Opera Omnia
by Smiling Seshat
Summary: (Collection of unrelated oneshots) Latest: Bellatrix is sent to seduce the location of the Elder Wand out of Grindelwald. Unfortunately, the man is not being very helpful.
1. Pickwickian (Sirius x Remus)

**On my profile, there's a list of all the Opera Omnia oneshots, with a summary for each of them, to make it easier for you guys to select what you're interested in.**

Prompts for this:

Has to be 1825 words (A/N doesn't count).

No '?' marks allowed.

A/N: This story is where I will store all my oneshots for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.

For inspiration, I looked in the dictionary. It gave me three words: intenerate (to soften something) and succorance (the act of seeking out affectionate care and social support). The third is Pickwickian, the title of this oneshot. It means 'intended or taken in a sense other than the obvious or literal one'.

Summary: Remus should've known Sirius was a traitor.

**-x-x-x-**

The pain was terrible. It wasn't an acute feeling that would leave him screaming; it was a never-ending, dull throb where his heart was supposed to be. He felt empty, hollow. He was bereft of purpose, useless, to be discarded. He was nothing but a shell of a man. His closest friends were dead because of that _traitor_.

Remus should've known Sirius was a traitor. Peter had been too sweet, incapable of even _thinking_ of betraying his friends. He would've been the kind to lie and avoid giving any information to the enemy, even if he was forced to. Sirius was the one who had been closest to the Potters. He'd had access to sensitive information, had been allowed privileges and opportunities any Death Eater would've given _anything_ to have. It had been kept secret, but Remus had very well guessed that Sirius had been James, Lily and little Harry's Secret Keeper. James had always trusted Sirius the most, and Remus had accepted that, had tucked away the bitter feeling of rejection, telling himself he was being ridiculous and it wasn't anything to be jealous about. So when Voldemort had killed the Potters, had managed to bypass the Fidelius Charm protecting the house...

The betrayal had left him breathless, on the edge of panicking hysterically. Sirius had sold out the Potters, and Remus hadn't seen it coming. He had felt (and still did), like the worst friend in the world, unworthy of having once been given the Potter's trust. He should've been there, he should've done something. He had always been so, so blind to the truth.

Sirius was a Black, and Remus had always believed the man had hated his family, hated the fact that they were Dark, and had wanted to differentiate himself from his lineage, show people he wasn't his family. That, Remus had thought, had been the reason why Sirius had been a Gryffindor, why he'd run away from his home to live with James. (_Never ever with me,_ his inner voice lamented.)

In hindsight, it had probably never been hate that Sirius had felt for his relatives. Indeed, he must've felt smothered and had wanted to build his own reputation, by himself. He'd wanted to show that he could do better that his family. He'd probably befriended James, Remus and Peter just to give himself and alibi, look like a nice repenting wizard from a dark family, biding his time until he could deliver the fatal blow. All along, Sirius had simply wanted to do something better, something horrible that would make his family look like amateurs. He had wanted to become a feared Dark wizard without relying on his parents' reputation.

Remus realized that now. After all, Sirius had achieved his goal. He'd been responsible for James and Lily dying, had killed Peter in person and had murdered several muggles. He would've probably gone after Remus next, if it hadn't been for the Aurors detaining him.

Even now, Remus could remember the touches, that confident smile, the physical intimacy that came so easily when with Sirius. Remus had never trusted enough to let people come close. Sirius had been the first, worming his way into Remus' heart until every instant without him had been akin to heartbreak.

Sirius had been a master manipulator, and no one had seen it coming. No one had seen his betrayal coming, because everyone had wanted to look beyond his family, and give him a chance. People had wanted to be kind and accepting, and let Sirius prove himself. As a werewolf, Remus knew what it was to be judged according to something you had no control over. Sirius had been judged all his life for his family's tendencies, and Remus had thought himself above prejudice, had allowed Sirius the chance to prove he was good, telling himself he'd be better than all the others and wouldn't judge Sirius just because he was a Black.

"One Firewhiskey for you, sir."

A large glass was placed in front of him. He raised his head and thanked the waitress, a young brown haired woman he vaguely remembered from Hogwarts. She smiled, and left to continue serving other clients.

Remus' gaze went to the glass. He stared at it, fascinated by how the wood of the table was refracted by the glass. He allowed himself a second to worry about money, about how he shouldn't be spending it on useless things, before he pushed those thoughts back violently, and took hold of the glass.

He took a small sip, thinking of how the day had gone.

Despite Voldemort's death, the war wasn't finished. There were still rogue Death Eaters causing troubles and, more than ever, people were wary of Dark creatures. Today, Remus had gone looking for a job. He'd been ready to accept anything, as long as he'd be able to make some money. He'd been forced to refuse many jobs because the working hours presented too much of a risk of his situation being discovered. One job had seemed interesting, though; proofreading for the _Clairvoyant_, a newspaper that published weekly. He would be able to work from home, and there was no risk of him being forced to ask to be excused every month during the full moon and making people suspicious.

Remus put his glass back down, and rubbed his temples, trying to distract himself from his worries.

He had trusted Sirius. When it came down to it, that was a fact he could not deny. He'd believed they were close, friends that would always have each other's backs. Unfortunately, it had been a lie. He'd never thought to second guess the foundation of a relationship that had started before the war; he'd never realized Sirius could've been planning that far ahead and now he was paying for it. Sirius had intenerated his heart, and even now he missed the man, despite the fierce sting of the betrayal.

Sirius had that charm, the intelligence and that sheer magnetism that _attracted_ people to him. Remus had been caught in it too, fascinated by the effulgent man ever since they'd met as boys. Sirius had been Remus' ballast, the one that ensured nothing went wrong.

Now, he was gone, somewhere in a cell in Azkaban. Remus was alone, heavily grieved at the loss of his friends.

At school, the succorance Remus had felt everyday had been resolved thanks to Sirius, who'd given him the friendship he'd always wanted. He'd been dreadfully jealous of James, who had always had a closer friendship with Sirius. Now, he wondered if he ought to be glad he didn't get too close to Sirius before the man had shown his true colours. The betrayal and loss hurt, yes, but Remus could've died like James and Lily. Had he trusted Sirius with too much information as they had, he might've died, too.

And Harry... poor Harry. The boy had been placed into a home with strong wards to protect him from Death Eaters. The location of the place was kept secret, and even Remus didn't know where the boy lived. Harry was a hero, and had managed to stop a very dangerous man; clearly, he would be placed somewhere very safe and kept away from danger.

A part of Remus wanted to see the boy, hug him and feel his pulse to know he was alive and had truly survived. A much larger part of Remus was one he knew too well; the coward, the one who ran from his problems, who felt more fear at the thought of facing his problems than the action itself. James, Peter and... even Sirius, they had learned to see the true Remus, to see past the werewolf and know the man underneath.

It wasn't surprising that Harry wouldn't necessarily be as kind.

Harry hadn't learnt that werewolves weren't always bad; he might grow up condemning Remus his whole life. Even if Remus tried rectifying the situation, there was still the fact that he was responsible for the James, Lily and Peter's death. Remus hadn't seen the monster under his friend's skin, he hadn't realized Sirius was a traitor, and his overwhelming _trust_ in the man had led to the downfall of many good people.

Harry would never forgive him, would never allow himself to _see_ him, and Remus couldn't blame him. Remus hadn't saved the boy's parents. He had been useless, as always.

Vision strangely blurred, Remus looked down and realized he had finished his glass. He'd somehow drunk it all without realizing. This had to be his fate; to become a drunkard for everyone to laugh at.

Sometimes, he even allowed himself to think about the trial, and Sirius' expression as the sentence had come out. Sirius had been pleading his innocence, the monster somehow believing that his acting skills would be enough to save him. They hadn't been. Sirius had been fooling everyone for years, pretending to be a nice and charming reformed Dark wizard, right until the moment he'd shown his true colours. He had believed he would be able to use his superb acting skills to avoid Azkaban, but Remus had been there, ready to ensure the man would never hurt anyone, ever again. He'd testified, explained how the Potters had been protected, and how he'd suspected Sirius of being the Secret Keeper. Sirius had been yelling about his innocence, but Remus had refused to listen to the man besmirch Peter's name by accusing him of being the one responsible, when the traitor had clearly been Sirius.

As per the rules in times of war, no veritaserum had been used. The proof had been undeniable. There was also the fact that Voldemort had been rumoured to have found a way to avoid the potion's effects. Ever since the rumour had shown, the Minister had had all his researchers trying to create another Truth's Serum. Until the new serum would be found, there had been no use of veritaserum, and the Ministry had relied on evidence, instead.

Feeling as if he were about to collapse, Remus hailed the waitress. She came over swiftly, her polite smile changing into a frown of concern as she approached him and noticed his state.

"You don't seem to be feeling well," said the young woman.

He couldn't help but feel as though he'd known her. It took a few seconds, but he finally recognized her as a Ravenclaw, a pure-blooded witch who had studied with him in the library, once.

He'd been silent too long, and the witch was looking quite worried.

"I..." His voice came out in a rasp. He hadn't been speaking much since the war had ended. Hadn't had anyone to speak to. "I'm fine."

To reinforce the lie, he smiled shakily.

Remus had loved, once. It had ended badly. Now, he wouldn't allow himself to make the same mistake. He would be forever running from love, attempting to escape its hungry maw.

-x-x-x-

**A/N**: I repeat that on my profile, there's a list of all the Opera Omnia oneshots, with a summary for each of them, to make it easier for you guys to select what you're interested in.


	2. Malignancy (Adrian Pucey & Blaise)

**For the second round of the competition.**

**A SlytherinxSlytherin friendship.**

**Prompt:**

**11: (Word) derivative**

**Summary: If Draco fails, there are always others...**

-x-x-x-

"What are you doing?"

It was Blaise who'd asked. He'd been watching the other boy work for the past few minutes, and had finally gotten impatient enough to blurt out the question.

Adrian raised his eyes at the door of the room, but no one came in. The classroom was one of the numerous unused rooms, and the boys had warded it against intruders. Adrian was paranoid enough to whisper his next words, even though no sound could pass through the walls due to the magic used on them:

"I think I forgot the banshee hairs," he admitted quietly.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. It was rather surprising that Adrian would admit having committed such a mistake.

"That's unusual of you, Pucey." Then, letting his curiosity get the better of him, he asked: "Which potion will it be, then?"

The bubbling cauldron was sitting in the middle of the room, conveniently located on the middle of the floor. A few floating flames had been cast directly under it to keep the it going at a rolling boil. A cloth had been set aside to hold most of the ingredients, and an well-loved cutting board and silver knife laid nearby. There was a potions book next to the cauldron, pages somewhat crumpled from frantic flipping, and from what Blaise could see, the recipe was for a potion with a kind of berry as its main ingredient.

Adrian sighed. "Most of the potions are too well-known to work; Dumbledore would suspect something immediately. I decided to try a derivative of the Baneberry Potion, which is slower to act but has less... _distinguishing_ symptoms. It would take them longer to realize what potion it is, and hopefully it'll be enough to kill the man."

Blaise smiled crookedly. "The potion turns you bright red. Hard to be more obvious than that."

Clearing his throat pointedly, Adrian glared. "This one will only give a light flush, and there won't be enough change in the skin colour to make them think it's anything but a fever."

There was a moment of silence, the only sound being the bubbling of the cauldron.

Then...

"I wonder if Draco realizes."

"Realizes what?" asked Adrian.

Blaise looked away.

"That the Dark Lord never expected him to carry out the task successfully."

While Blaise was uncomfortable with the situation, Adrian was perfectly at ease. After all, it wasn't like he cared one whit about Draco. Adrian might consider Blaise a friend, but Draco was nothing but a nuisance, unaware of the world's realities and how harsh life truly was.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "If Malfoy fails, we will do as our Lord said and kill Dumbledore. And if _we_ fail, there will be others and more, ready to make it where we failed. Surely at least one of us will manage."

"Yes," said Blaise, his gaze unfocused. "Surely one of us will."

Slowly, Adrian added the ground wolf liver to the concoction within the cauldron. The pale white colour turned into an ugly red.

"How are you going to finish it without the banshee hairs?" asked Blaise.

Adrian smiled, stirring the potion careful and counting under his breath. After having done so for a good twenty seconds, he finally deigned to respond:

"Banshee hair is what ensures the death of the one who drinks the potion. Without the hair, the victim will just feel very ill. I will add some venomous tentacula shavings that I have left from Potions class, as well some aconite leaves. The potion will be lethal, so don't worry."

_I'm not worrying,_ thought Blaise._ As if you'd ever allow yourself to make a faulty potion._

"... Why do you hate Draco so much?" He couldn't help but ask it. He liked Adrian, really, but when the young man disliked people, he did it intensively, albeit stealthily. For as long as Blaise could remember, Adrian had always utterly detested Draco but had never said it out loud.

Adrian's grip on the ladle tightened.

"Is it not obvious?"

Instead of saying something rude, Blaise paused and thought about it.

Draco had several less-than-attractive character traits, yes, but so did Blaise and yet Adrian didn't have a problem with him. Perhaps jealousy over the Malfoy family's fortune? Adrian had never showed much interest in that, as he was already wealthy and didn't seem to desire more gold. Or maybe, just maybe, Blaise was missing something crucial that would explain it all.

"No, it isn't."

It was a proof of their friendship that he allowed himself to admit such a lack of understanding and knowledge. Had Blaise been in front of someone else, he would've been less keen to admit he didn't know something.

"… He presumes to know best," said Adrian at last. "I refuse to see the Slytherin House be made a mockery of. Draco does not uphold the ideals of our House properly, and it is only because of his family that I tolerate him. He is not discreet in the least, and he made an enemy of Harry Potter within his first day of school. You may see him as a friend, but to me he is nothing but an imbecile, unfit. He is too obvious in his schemes, and that is what will make him fail."

Frowning, Blaise crossed his arms.

"That's unfair of you to say."

"Perhaps, but we don't exactly live in a fair place, do we?"

Blaise huffed.

"You're lucky you're my friend, or I would've decked you for talking like that about Draco."

"Just because you don't like it doesn't make it less true," replied Adrian. "That's what friends do, isn't it? Be honest with each other?"

Blaise massaged his temples, feeling like an old man already. Having friends who disliked one another was annoying. "I suppose someone has to be there to tell you that you're a complete arse and that your tie tying skills are atrocious." As if to demonstrate his point, he leaned over and straightened the other boy's tie. "At least Draco can dress without help."

Adrian glared at him. Blaise knew there was no real hatred in it, because the young man hadn't pushed his hand away.

"Friends until the end, I suppose," said Adrian, the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

Blaise's grunt was his only answer, but it was easy to see his lips were quirking up.

"I suppose," Blaise answered, patting the tie into place. "Someone needs to teach you style."


	3. Deserving (Poem - Ron x Hermione)

For the poem competition, here is a bit of an introspective work. A Ron/Hermione poem from Ron's point of view.

Summary: Ron feels unworthy of Hermione.

Each verse has exactly **6 syllables**, and the poem is in **14 quatrains (meaning 14 stanzas of four verses).**

Prompts: relationships and fire

Enjoy.

You always smile at me

Like I mean everything

Each day, surprisingly

You see me as a king

.

Sorry I let you down

I was jealous and sore

In your pretty pink gown

You let all your tears pour

.

For so long, unworthy

To even glimpse your fire

Truly, you're lovely

One I always admire

.

Why d'you ever bother?

I thought you liked Harry

That I was the other

in our duo of three

.

My love was always there

Not hoping for a chance

I knew life was unfair

I wanted just a glance

.

You truly love me back

I could now die, content

Our hearts can't ever crack

Our life has been well-spent

.

You see all inside me

No inferior boy

I feel like I am free

A man of smiling joy

.

You make me quite vocal

Your attention is so

Aphrodisiacal

A hot summer with snow

.

I strive to make you laugh

And love to see you blush

And then on your behalf

All bigots I will crush

.

There are always some who

doubt our relationship

There is nothing that's new

About our partnership

.

They say I'm unworthy?

I'm glad enough to skip!

Because you do love me

I'm in your loving grip

.

Allow me to simply

Gaze at you properly

I feel it's my duty

To idolize beauty

.

Let me show devotion

None can try emulate

The strongest love potion

Is left to speculate

.

Because none can create

A love that is this pure

It is something innate

Of that I'm truly sure


	4. Abandoned (Albus x Gellert)

**Emotion: Grief (Forbidden word: grief)**

Summary: After all this time, Albus still cares for his best friend.

-x-x-x-

The building was large and towering. The jet-black stone, as well as the oppressive air, gave the fortress a rather grim appearance, despite the balmy weather. Carved over the entrance was the following motto:

_Für das höhere Wohl._

The day was sunny, and so it was easy enough to decipher the worn letters that had been carved there years ago.

_For the greater good._

It was a utilitarian concept, one Albus Dumbledore was rather familiar with. He had mixed feelings about the phrase, because, while it was a philosophy he believed in, it had memories associated with it that weren't all that positive.

The inside of the prison was just as foreboding as its exterior, with a distinct lack of proper lighting or much furniture beyond the essentials. Albus walked into the building with a powerful stride, holding tightly onto a small bag. Immediately, he was stopped by a pale, sickly-looking guard with disquieting scars. The guard pointed his wand at him, watching him warily.

_"Ihr Name und der Gründ für Ihren Besuch Bitte?"_

Albus cocked his head to the side, curious. The guard was obviously new, explaining why he hadn't known Albus was a regular visitor.

"My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. I have come to visit an inmate."

The guard's eyes glinted in recognition, and he lowered his wand.

"I have heard of you. You defeated Dark Lord Grindelwald. You... saved us all." The guard looked as if he could scarcely believe his eyes. "You're a hero. No one will ever believe me if I told them I've seen you here."

His accent was Irish and he spoke flawless English. Albus wondered if he was part British.

Albus inclined his head. "I did what had to be done."

Indeed he had. After his legendary battle with Gellert Grindelwald, he'd become quite the celebrity in most of Europe. After all, he had single-handedly stopped a war. The people loved him for it, and the fame he'd received afterwards had been (and still was) quite impressive for a man who'd never had that much attention directed at him before. There had been drawbacks, of course, one of them being the British Ministry of Magic.

The Ministry hadn't been overly thrilled about what Dumbledore had done. Of course, they'd been glad a great threat to the nation had been vanquished, but the fact of the matter was that Dumbledore's actions had not only made the authorities look incompetent, but had, by all accounts, been both overly brash and foolhardy. Minister Leonard Spencer Moon had not been discreet in any way about his annoyance. One of the only notable Ministry workers to _not_ dislike Dumbledore was Millicent Bagnold, Junior Minister in the Department of Foreign Relations.

"You are here to see _him_, I assume?" asked the guard.

"He is in the East Wing, is he not?" Albus asked, despite already knowing the answer.

"At the top, locked up tight," answered the guard. "Don't stay longer than an hour, or the security measures will kick in, and you'll be trapped."

Albus tipped his hat at the guard and went on his way.

There were no more guards to be seen as he walked towards his destination. Nurmengard was operated mostly by automatons, and the few guards present were mostly insurance in case anything happened to them.

It took ten minutes for Albus to arrive in front of the right door. He peered in through a small opening that stood at eye level. It was as large as the length of a hand, and through it one could see a cell, and a man:

Gellert Grindelwald.

Albus reached for the small bag he'd brought along with him. He fished through it, his entire forearm disappearing inside the too-small bag, proof of the Expansion Charm placed there. Finally, he found what he had been looking for and brought his arm back out. Nestled in his hand was a packet of sherbet lemons.

During all the time they'd known each other, Gellert had always nurtured quite a bit of an obsession with the lemon-flavoured sweet. He would constantly have some in his pockets, and would always offer one to Albus. As time had passed, Albus had started associating the sweet with his friend, and eating sherbet lemons had become a comfort.

"Good afternoon, Gellert," said Albus cheerfully, using his wand to levitate some of the sweets into the cell through the small opening. His tone was pleasant and warm with fondness. "Last time, we parted on less-than-amicable terms, so this time, I have come bearing gifts. I wasn't quite sure what would be best, so I've decided on-"

"What a fine jest this is," Gellert drawled, his gaze never leaving the ceiling. He was sprawled on his bed, his hands resting behind his head.

"Pardon me?"

"This... _infatuation_ of yours seems to rise to new heights every time I see you. It ceased surprising me a long time ago, so I am asking you to _**stop**_. It's become tedious."

"Now, now," said Albus, his smile still in place. "We've had our disagreements in the past, but it is nothing that cannot be overcome."

Gellert turned and glared at Albus.

"When we were young," he snarled, "I played along out of _pity_, and because you were of use to me." His face, normally always carefully hiding his thoughts, was showing disgust and anger.

In their youth, Gellert had always been adept at controlling his emotions. His time in a cell had changed that.

"But now, this... clinging affection is just _pathetic_." The last word was spat out, conveying the hatred perfectly.

There was no visible reaction from Albus.

"I see," he said finally, his tone neutral. "I shall see myself out, then."

The sherbet lemons dropped on the floor, and Albus left. He continued walking at a slow pace and turned down several hallways until he was out of hearing range. Then, he stopped.

The silence was absolute, save for his measured breathing. It came out of nowhere. Rather suddenly, Albus' face twisted, his emotional pain bared for the world to see, and not for the first time, Albus let himself slump down, his shoulders shaking in silent sobs.

His heart felt as if it were being torn to pieces.

It took him exactly one minute and thirty-two seconds to gather his bearings and hide how pained and hurt he felt by Gellert's spiteful words. Then, like a switch had been turned, Albus regained his normal and flawless composure. He turned and walked straight back towards the cell.

He retraced his steps, turned once, and then found himself in front of the same door. He peeked towards the opening, and saw Gellert restlessly pacing back and forth in his cell.

"Gellert, old friend!" said Albus jovially, his facade up once more. "You are looking well!"

Gellert gaze found Albus' and a smile appeared. "Albus! My, my, it has been a while since you have come to visit! You should come more often. And look!" he said, holding up a sherbet lemon. "Someone brought some of my favourite."

Albus smiled. The gesture wasn't shaky in the least. Albus had had years to perfect his acting, years of having to face this, every time feeling like he was dying inside. At first, he hadn't even been able to smile when visiting Gellert. That had changed.

"That's wonderful. I hope you enjoy them."

The rest of Albus' visit didn't diverge much from the well practised script of one man visiting his old friend. They made small talk and discussed times past. Nothing more, nothing less.

Once upon a time, Albus had won, had beaten Gellert. Gellert hadn't wanted his mind to be searched which would have all of his hidden associates discovered and imprisoned, so he'd turned his wand on himself. To this day, Albus still didn't know how to heal his friend's self-inflicted psychological wound. The man's symptoms were always the same: at times he seemed to forget everything and then, he would remember it again. His personality would change, and it would be like a different person was at the helm every two minutes. There were times when he would forget himself and start to talk to the air, chatting by himself, to people that no one but he could see.

His associates' names had never been discovered. Most of those working for his cause had escaped without notice, hiding themselves until the suspicions and rumours surrounding them simmered down. Gellert had protected those that worked for him and those that helped his cause, but the ultimate price had been the cost of his mind. All attempts to pull the information from the wizard's mind, both magical and mundane, failed. He couldn't even be interrogated under a Truth Serum. Nothing worked. Whatever Gellert had thought so important, to the point that he would rather damage his mind than reveal it, was gone. What was left was a pale shadow of the once great Gellert Grindelwald.

Gellert was alive, but his mind was in tatters. There was just enough left to offer glimpses of hope to Albus, before reality crushed it and left Albus forever disappointed.

The day Albus had won their duel, Gellert had left. Albus was alone and feeling the weight of the pain and hurt every time he saw his friend.

_Für das höhere Wohl._

It had been for the greater good, but that greater good was a painful and hollow victory. He had won, but even now, his heart ached for the man who had once been so strong. He had won, but he had been in mourning ever since. Gellert had left him alone with his regret and his remorse. Perhaps, in his own way, Gellert had won as well.

It was a stalemate in emotional purgatory. The only difference was that Albus Dumbledore walked free on the opposite side of the prison bars, and Gellert walked only in the broken corridors of his self-induced, broken mind.


	5. Ophidiophobia (Lucius & Bellatrix)

**Prompts:**

**9\. (dialogue) "I don't do well with snakes."**

**13\. (word) ridiculous**

**14\. (word) appearance**

**For Lucius' fourth year at Hogwarts.**

**Summary: Bellatrix loved mocking Lucius' ophidiophobia.**

-x-x-x-

Bellatrix Lestrange was _fondling _the Dark Lord's snake. Her heavy breathing and half-lidded eyes made the sight even worse, turning it into something that would disturb Lucius for evermore. Nagini didn't seem to care, watching passively as Bellatrix brought her to her bosom and crooned.

Lucius took a step back, annoyed at the young woman for showing her affections for the Dark Lord so plainly, seemingly forgetting that she had a betrothed already. One didn't just… cuddle like that in public! It was unseemly.

Bellatrix pressed her cheek against the snake's scales, and her scandalously low-cut dress slipped down, revealing more of her body than Lucius ever wanted to see.

"Cover yourself, woman!" he snapped, turning away to give her some semblance of modesty. She might not care about what he saw, but that didn't mean he wouldn't act like the gentleman he was raised to be.

"Oh, widdle itty-bitty Lucy is _shy_," cooed Bellatrix, her tone mocking.

He gritted his teeth.

"Unlike what you seem to think, not every man salivates after unclothed women like a bitch in heat. I have standards."

"Standards, hm?" said Bellatrix, her breath hot against his ear and her hands settling on his hips.

He stiffened, having not heard her approach.

"I-" he began.

"Did you know," she said, interrupting him rudely, "that my mother says Cissa and I have the same appearance, the same body? So looking away from me… is just as if you're looking away from _her_."

He ripped himself out of her grasp and glared, composure be damned.

"Are you daft, woman? I'm promised to your sister. Throwing yourself at a man like that, it's no wonder you-"

"Don't be ridiculous, Lucy," said Bellatrix, looking as if he were the one making things up and she'd done nothing reprehensible. "I only belong to my Lord. All others don't matter."

He knew that she was attempting to provoke a reaction out of him. Insinuating he was barely worth a second glance, calling him by that _**nickname… **_Despite his best efforts, Bellatrix had never desisted in using that infernal name.

Instead, he changed the subject.

"I can see you are caring for our Lord's snake," he said, a question hidden in a statement.

And suddenly, as if all was right in the world, Bellatrix smiled. She caressed Nagini's body and let out a breathy giggle. Lucius forced himself not to react. Bellatrix loved unsettling people by acting out of turn, and was probably avidly waiting for his frustration to appear again. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction of seeing him angry.

"Isn't she beautiful?" asked Bellatrix. "My Lord trusted me with her safekeeping. I will prove myself to him that way." She held the snake out, her eyes glinting, silently mocking him. "Do you wish to pet her?"

"I will have to decline your… generous proposal. I don't do well with snakes." _As you already know._

After all, she'd been the one to throw him into Uncle Eschyle's snake pit when he was a child, traumatizing him for life. If it hadn't been for a lucky bout of accidental magic, he would've died.

Bellatrix pouted, the obscene red of her lipstick standing out even more.

"But this one's special! She won't bite! Right, my beauty?"

The snake didn't respond, lazily watching them from her spot in Bellatrix' arms.

"While it is nice of you to-"

"Don't you like her?" whispered Bellatrix, entering Lucius' personal space. "Do you not like the Dark Lord's companion?"

The trap was blatant. Lucius wondered if she really expected him to fall for it.

"I'm not overly fond of snakes. And besides, I am... 'unworthy' of touching a being that precious to our Lord, especially without his permission."

Well, that last part was made up. He'd just needed an excuse to keep her from prodding. Despite being a Slytherin, he had ophidiophobia. Being so fearful of the animal that represented his House was disgraceful, and so he'd kept it a secret. Bellatrix knew, however, and delighted in seeing him squirm. As with most things Bellatrix did, she never lost an opportunity to make things uncomfortable, especially to him.

He inclined his head in the young woman's direction. "I must leave. I wish you an agreeable afternoon."

He was already leaving, his pace a brisk walk.

"Yes, Lucy!" shouted Bellatrix from behind him. "Run like the coward you are!"

Lucius didn't respond; he knew better than to respond to such an obvious taunt, as fallacious as Bellatrix' words were.

There was a Yule feast that evening and Narcissa would be his partner for the ball afterwards. It seemed Bellatrix had taken that to mean that she could pester Lucius as much as she wished. Lucius would've given anything to avoid being in the Common Room with the young woman who was stupid enough to parade the Dark Lord's snake around as if she wouldn't get caught. The girl wasn't all there in the head, and her constantly debauched look didn't help. Lucius knew she would probably bring shame upon the Malfoy family, and the next day the papers would assuredly have their own barbs written about Malfoys being unable to choose 'normal' friends.

He headed for his room. It was quite far away, but he didn't let that affect him. Had he decided to stop elsewhere, Bellatrix would've sought him out. At least, in his room, he had privacy.

Opening the door to his bedroom, the one he shared with his year mates (who were absent at the moment), he allowed himself to drink in the sight of a room that belonged to him, and where Bellatrix couldn't come. She could not enter his room without his permission. It was his sanctuary. He pushed the door shut, his eyes not leaving his bed. He wanted to lie on it and allow himself to forget all his worries, his exams, school work and that horrid sister of Narcissa's.

He froze as he realised the door hadn't clicked shut.

Convinced Bellatrix had followed him, Lucius turned around slowly, bringing his wand out as he did.

It wasn't Bellatrix.

Nagini was there, blocking the door with her body and sliding forward, invading his private space. Her eyes were on him, a hunter after its prey.

Lucius didn't move.

He should not have spoken to Bellatrix, because now Nagini was in his room, looking ready to strike.

Breathing in deeply, Lucius concentrated on stifling the instinctive rise of bile in his throat. _Fear _of snakes had been his bane ever since Bellatrix had cast him into the snake pit. _Fear _of the Dark Lord's repercussions kept him from attempting anything with his "pet" that might be seen as disrespectful. _Fear _had kept him from petting the snake as Bellatrix had taunted him to do. It was _his fear_, he knew, that had probably attracted Nagini to his refuge.

Lucius' jaw clenched, his eyes watching as Nagini slithered up the side of his blessed bed, slowly and languorously spreading her long coils across his sheets. She curled herself in a position so her eyes never lost sight of him, pinning him with her cold, reptilian stare.

He probably should've agreed to pet her, fears be damned. Saying no must've offended the snake.

Determined, his fingers clenched. He knew he had only one chance to make amends with the Dark Lord's pet. He had only one window of opportunity to bridge the social gaffe he had unintentionally brought upon himself by avoiding Bellatrix's taunts.

_Pet her_, his inner voice said. _This is not bravery. This is self-preservation._

Lucius slowly tucked away his wand and closed the door Nagini had finished passing through. She was coiled on the bed, her head raised, staring straight at him.

Forcing the tremble in his hand and arm to still, he extended his hand out toward Nagini in the only act of restitution left to him.

It was in that moment that Lucius Malfoy felt the cold reality settle on him: his life hung by a thread and his survival hinged on Nagini's whim and favour. She could accept his 'apology,' or she could be his end.

Lucius closed his eyes. _I never did do well with snakes._


	6. Utilitarianism (Harry & Hermione)

**Prompts:**

**(first sentence) Time was running out**

**mermaid**

**topaz**

**Genre: Supernatural**

**Summary: How far would you go for the greater good?**

Time was running out. The intricate array that he'd spent hours carving into the slab of rock was shining brightly, casting an eerie glow on the walls. Directly behind him was the room's only door. It was rattling loudly under the assault of several violent spells being shot at it from the other side.

"_Bombarda_!" he heard a feminine voice shout.

The door shuddered and creaked, but it held. The wards were doing their job. While the young woman wasn't an enemy, the violence and aggression she was displaying was enough to trigger the house's protections.

He didn't allow himself to be distracted and continued preparing for what he was about to do.

The ritual required seven ingredients: a precious stone, the organic parts of a magical being, raskovnik leaves, cat guts, bird wings, and a sacrifice. The most important one of all, however, was something that was linked to the future victim. This would ensure the ritual would be able to target a specific person.

The precious stone he'd chosen for the ritual was a topaz. The book describing the necessary tasks had expressly stated that the stone used needed to have magical properties linked to blood. Normally, precious stones like beryl, which regulated arterial tension, or cinnabar, a red stone that purified blood, were used. Hematite was another one often used, as it was said to make the blood healthier.

He'd chosen to use a less common one. A topaz had several magical qualities that would be useful to him. It activated blood circulation, making it a viable stone for the ritual, but it also had the ability to help keep sadness and melancholy at bay.

He knew that if he were to be too emotionally vulnerable during the ritual's completion, the magic would certainly backfire. And so, because of that useful second property, he'd decided to use topaz.

(He refused to think of one of its other properties, its ability to help fight depression. He hadn't chosen it for that reason. He hadn't.)

The second ingredient required a more organic component. He had needed to harvest parts of a magical being with an elemental nature aligned to what he wanted from the ceremony. Water was the element he'd decided to focus on, so he had bought mermaid scales from Diagon Alley's apothecary. No sense in hunting down a mermaid by himself, after all.

"_Conrumpo_!" shouted the voice outside the room, trying a particularly strong curse to blast through the door.

The door shook under the power of the magic, but the wards prevented the wood from giving in.

The third ingredient had been expensive to acquire; three handfuls of raskovnik leaves. Raskovnik was a magical plant capable of unlocking anything, be it a secret, a door, or a problem. It also looked exactly like clovers, making it next to impossible to distinguish from its non-magical cousin. It was rare, and very expensive. He'd paid seventy-five galleons for it. Three-hundred and seventy-two pounds!

The fourth and fifth ingredients had been the easiest to get his hands on. Cat guts and bird wings had not been difficult to find, and he hadn't struggled with that part at all.

But the sixth ingredient…

There were three other people in the room with him. Two were male, with their eyes open and unseeing, what was left of them splayed across the floor. The third was a woman, who seemed to be crying. She'd been silenced and bound with a few simple spells, and thus was not a nuisance anymore. She would be the sixth ingredient.

The seventh one was easy enough: a thin, dark diary with a hole punched through it.

The door nearly _vibrated_ with the strength of the next spell.

"_OPEN!_" the voice shrieked.

He ignored it, and began.

The array was already lit and leeching off energy from any living source nearby, so he hurried and placed the topaz in the middle of the pentacle where a hole had been dug specifically for it.. The mermaid scales were placed on each corner of the pentagram, and the guts and wings went around the topaz.

"_Incendio_," he whispered, and the dried raskovnik leaves went up in flames. He waited a few seconds for the remains to cool, and then gathered the ashes up in his palms. He scattered them across the magical array.

"Stop it! Don't do it!" a voice shouted from outside the door.

The shining light increased dramatically, and the bound woman shivered, turning her face away.

Movements brisk, he ran to retrieve the diary and let it fall down on the edge of the pentagram, just in time for the light to reach the apex of its brightness, and abruptly turn off.

The room was now bathed in darkness.

"_Lumos_."

A small light appeared at the tip of his wand. It allowed him to notice that a dark sludge had appeared on the large slab of rock he'd used for the ceremony.

"I did as the book asked," he said, suddenly nervous. He glanced over, and noticed the topaz had been ground to dust. "I brought you a..."

He stopped talking when he noticed that the woman was no longer moving, something lodged in her throat, her hand still on it. Her neck was red.

The wards flickered and died.

"... sacrifice."

The sludge grew in height, it's amorphous body moving and jerking in spastic movements.

"_Bombarda Maxima!"_ cried the voice outside, and this time the door didn't hold. It exploded, sending shards everywhere.

The woman on the other side ran in, wand out, her eyes taking in the situation.

The sludge had leaped, and was converging on him.

"_Confringo_!" she shouted, pointing at the dark mass. There was no reaction when the spell hit, as though it hadn't registered at all.

"Why did you do it?!" she cried, as he wrestled with the being he had summoned. "Why?!"

He grunted, trying to tear himself free. "Voldemort has _years _of experience on us!" he shouted. "He's a bloody genius. Did you _really _think we could beat him? I did what I had to do!"

She shot another spell at the living sludge, but it still didn't react. She knew better than to touch it, and so she continued trying to blast it to pieces.

"You killed your own owl, and _my cat!_" she shrieked. "You were ready to give your aunt as host to that demon, if she hadn't died before it could happen!"

He didn't manage to respond, because the sludge turned to smoke and disappeared.

It was gone.

And suddenly, all of Hermione's anger was gone. "What… ?"

"I took care of it," he answered, eyes closed, his hands massaging his temples. "You were right. I'm sorry. Please… just give me a minute."

He seemed quite pained, so she said:

"I'll be right outside." She sounded angry and sorry at the same time, an intriguing mixture.

She left, her unsteady breathing enough to tell him that she'd come back within a few seconds if he didn't follow her out soon.

Harry opened his eyes, revealing pitch black orbs.


	7. Otherness (Harry & Hermione)

**This is written by me , Chaser 3, instead of by Chaser 1.**

**Genre: Horror.**

**Prompts chosen are**

**4\. (Word) chasing**

**5\. (quote) 'To die would be an awfully big adventure wouldn't it?' - J.M Barrie, Peter Pan**

**12\. (Word) keyhole.**

**-x-x-**

The blood was everywhere. Harry ran, knowing the enemy was right behind him, chasing him.

"Hermione!" he cried. "Hermione, help!"

She wasn't there. Ron was still fighting in the Great Hall, he knew, but Hermione had been right behind him. As he ran, he chanced a look backwards.

A huge, slimy creature was right behind him, its huge eyes set straight on him.

"_Bombarda_!" he cried, his voice loud and clear. He couldn't afford to get the spell wrong, not now.

The creature ignored it, jumping over the spell as if it were barely worth noticing. Harry ran faster, his legs eating up the distance, wishing his broom was still intact so that he could use it to escape this nightmarish creature, just as he'd done in the Triwizard tournament with the dragon. He was lucky Harry-hunting had gotten him used to this sort of running.

Harry laughed, feeling hysteria crawl up. Was this the end? The Boy-Who-Lived, killed before he could do anything against Voldemort?

"_To die…" _ he thought, "_would be an awfully big adventure, wouldn't it?"_

Hadn't Dumbledore said something similar, before he'd died? Something about death being nothing but the next great adventure one would face in life? Harry couldn't recall the specifics, too occupied fleeing for his life. Was his own adventure coming up soon?

And then, just as he thought there was no more hope and he'd be caught, he noticed a door, half-opened. It was right in front of him, so he ran, pushing it open with all his might, and slammed it shut after himself.

There was a great bang, and he felt the door rattle. He pushed against the door so it wouldn't be forced open, and placed the tip of his wand on the keyhole, whispering a spell that would strengthen the door and keep it locked for a while longer.

There was silence for a while but Harry had the sickening feeling that the thing was still there. Suddenly there was a loud thud on the door and an awful, moaning voice.

"What is that thing?" he said to himself. And where the heck was Hermione?

An explosion from behind him caught him by surprise, and he managed to roll to the side just in time. The room he was in was a classroom, and the creature had decided that instead of trying to force open the magically locked door, it would break through the wall.

There was rubble everywhere, and bits of stone, and Harry could see the great creature there, staring down at him. He didn't know what the monster was, and hadn't heard of it in class. It was large, with tentacles and slime. It looked revolting, a putrid green colour and a sickening smell coming from it.

Was it one of Voldemort's allies? It didn't seem sentient, so it might be something Voldemort had just brought along to cause chaos and frighten his opponents into giving up.

"_Flipendo_!" Harry shouted, feeling an intense fear that nearly made him vomit. Everyone was outside, fighting Death Eaters, and here he was, about to _die_. He'd never been particularly fearful of death, but right then, his self-preservation instincts wanted him to live.

The creature paused, as if curious. Then it raised its tentacles and _**slapped **_Harry across the face.

Harry fell hard upon the floor, panting harshly and heavily, his wand loosely gripped in his hand. Blood was trickling down his cheek. He didn't have the energy to stand just yet, and could feel the creature staring down at it, breathing on his neck, moaning. The noise was horribly unnerving.

Harry was frightened out of his wits, his hands clenched so hard he could feel blood starting to form. How was he to survive this? He was completely alone, with no one to help him.

He wasn't sure if he dared stand but before he could make a decision, he heard a wail and a tentacle wrapping around his waist.

"AAAGH!" Harry screamed. Was this how his life was going to end?

He knew he wouldn't last very long, when he suddenly heard a shout:

"Harry! _Severio_!"

"Hermione," Harry breathed, suddenly incredibly relieved.

His friend was glaring at the monster, her hair dishevelled and slime sliding off her clothing.

The creature fell, the spell having killed it, and slumped on top of Harry. He found himself stuck under the enormous, glistening mass with foul-smelling liquid oozing out of it. Somehow, that was even worse that being chased by the creature, running for his life.

He struggled fiercely to push the creature off himself, tired out and breathing as if he had run a marathon. Technically, he'd run the equivalent of one.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked. She looked alarmed, staring at the creature as if it were about to come back to life and attack again.

"I'm fine, just… just trying to get out of here," Harry said shakily, before laughing out loud. "Merlin, am I glad to see you!"

"_Wingardium Leviosa,_" said Hermione, waving her wand.

The monster rose into the air, levitating over Harry. Shakily, he got to his feet, feeling unnamable juices along his body, on his robes. He didn't want to think about what the creature secreted. He shook his hands, trying to get some of it off, but it wasn't of much use.

He looked at Hermione, feeling so very grateful that he hadn't been alone. She gave a small smile, but then her gaze went past him, and he eyes widened.

"Watch out!"

He turned around, just in time to see the gaping maw of the _live _creature.


	8. Skeletal (Harry, Ron & Hermione)

**Prompts:**

**9\. (closing sentence) That was for certain.**

**13\. (creature) spider**

**15\. (word count) 2,000**

**Potion:**

**Skele-Gro**

**-x-**

"Did the cleansing ritual work?"

Harry looked up at Ron, and nodded.

"Yes, we just need to set the defenses now."

Ron was holding a white bottle. He set it down on the ground. It was Skele-Gro, oddly enough. Harry didn't know what his friend expected to do with it but didn't waste any time asking.

Hermione, who had just sent another stunner at the live Acromantula in the room, seemed worried.

"Ron, are you sure about this? This ritual isn't mentioned in any book I've read on the subject—"

"I'm sure," said Ron. "Most of my family's ancient rituals and spells come from the Celts, who passed down their knowledge orally. Celts were against writing down their skills, because they were afraid someone might steal it. I don't think you'd find my family's cleansing ritual in any book because that goes against tradition."

Hermione exhaled heavily, seemingly still unsure. Ron came closer and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him.

"You read a lot of books," he said, "but I was raised a wizard, and I promise this'll work. Trust me."

She opened her mouth to answer, but something moved in the corner of the room, and she whipped her wand out, sending yet another stunner at the Acromantula they'd captured for the next ritual.

"Harry," she said, keeping an eye on the large spider. Acromantulas were capable of resisting magic, so she needed to be ready in case it started moving again. "Are the defensive measures ready?"

A large cauldron was in the centre of the room, its contents bubbling angrily, and the young man in question was adding bucketfuls of salt to it.

"I can't find the Flesh-Eater's thorns!" answered Harry, looking worried. "Ron, a hand?"

"Right," mumbled the redhead, embarrassed he'd taken so long to react.

He looked around the room, his gaze searching for the needed ingredients.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione were in an abandoned classroom at Hogwarts. The whole school, students and teachers alike, were working on improving the levels of protection the castle had, until the inevitable happened.

Voldemort and his Death Eaters were outside, waiting for Harry to come and give himself up. Harry didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Either he gave himself up to Voldemort and died, or he resisted and would be responsible for the countless deaths of his fellow students, just because he hadn't been willing to give in.

He hadn't known what to do, until Ron had hesitantly approached him, saying he knew an old protection ritual that might help, though they'd take a while to set up. Desperate, Harry had agreed.

While Ron had raided Snape's stores of pre-made potions and raw ingredients, Hermione had been out in the Forbidden Forest under the Invisibility Cloak, staying as far away from the Death Eaters as possible. She had had to capture a live Acromantula for Ron's ritual. Harry had been stuck lugging large cauldrons to the empty classroom, and setting everything up.

Ron's plan was relatively simple. His whole life, he'd been taught about his ancestors and their magic. His parents had taught him traditional, old-fashioned magicks that were largely out of use now, as they took too much time to prepare and often had unexpected results. One was the Boline Ceremony, and it required three consecutive rituals.

A boline was a white-handled knife used extensively during the ceremony, which was why the the ceremony had been given the same name.

The Boline Ceremony's rituals were named Cleanse, Defend and Attack. There were _three _rituals (three being significant in magical numerology), which made the Boline Ceremony quite powerful when done right.

The first ritual involved cleansing the nearby area to remove any older magical residue that might affect the ceremony. That had been simple enough. Harry had done most of it himself, while Hermione was preparing a potion for the second part, and Ron had been outside, marking salt lines around Hogwarts.

The second ritual was meant to defend a predetermined terrain. That had been quite difficult, and the three friends had nearly failed there and then. First, they had to draw a large circle of salt around the place they wanted to protect. The kitchens hadn't had enough salt, and if it hadn't been for Trelawney, who had stores of it for her Divination classes, they wouldn't have managed it.

Once the salt lines were drawn, they needed to brew a potion, which, luckily enough, only took half an hour to make. Had it needed longer to prepare, they would've run out of time.

In addition to the potion, they needed a live, magical creature. It had to be carnivorous, dangerous, and born in the area. Hermione had narrowed down the options to an Acromantula, and that had made it her task to complete.

Ron was too frightened of spiders to do it himself, and if Harry went into the Forbidden Forest there was too great a chance of Voldemort somehow detecting him due to their shared link. So, Hermione had gone. She'd managed to come back with a live Acromantula, and she hadn't been spotted by the enemy. That part, at least, had been a success.

"Found them!" said Ron. The Flesh-Eater's thorns had been hidden underneath Hermione's ripped, bloody robes.

The robe in question had been a victim of the Acromantula, and as soon as Hermione had brought the spider to the abandoned classroom, she'd torn it off and thrown it to the ground. She hadn't realized one of the potion's ingredients had been placed there, and with her robe covering the Flesh-Eater's thorns, it wasn't too surprising that Harry hadn't managed to see them.

Carefully, Ron grabbed a handful and gave them to Harry, who hurriedly counted them and then, nodding in satisfaction, threw them into the cauldron. After stirring a few times, the potion changed colours, going from muddy brown to bone white with some darker lumps swirling around in it.

"What now?" asked Harry.

Ron's eye twitched, and he hunched over fearfully. He seemed afraid.

Shaking, he mumbled something inaudible in response.

"What?" asked Harry, his eyes still trained intently on the potion. "I didn't hear you."

"... We need to feed it to the Acromantula."

Harry turned to look at Ron incredulously. Unhappily, Ron nodded.

"Bloody hell," Harry breathed, turning to look over at the spider.

The spider chose that moment to start struggling against its bindings, and Hermione sent yet another stunner at it.

"Not all of it," said Ron, his voice aiming to be reassuring. "Just a cup or so.. We need to keep the rest of the potion for the third ritual."

"Hermione," said Harry, "can you keep it still for me?"

The young woman held her wand up higher, straightening proudly.

"Yes," she answered.

They'd brought several cups along. Most were dirty, having been used while brewing the potion, but Ron managed to find a clean one, and filled it with the grayish white liquid. He handed it to Harry, who looked as if he were readying himself to march off to his death.

"Good luck, mate," said Ron, obviously feeling a bit bad that his phobia prevented him from doing it himself.

Instead of approaching the spider slowly and warily, Harry ran over to it. If he took too long, the stunner might wear off again, and he didn't wish to be near the creature when that happened.

The beast's maw was already open, as it had been gnawing at its bindings when it had been stunned. Carefully, Harry poured the contents of the cup down the spider's gullet. As soon as he was done, he sprinted away from it, not willing to test his luck any further.

Ron clapped him on the back, smiling.

"That was perfect."

Hermione still had her wand trained on the spider, but seemed much more relaxed, now that that part was done.

"That's the end of the second ritual, right?" she asked.

At that moment, the spider began to glow, and ghostly, eight-legged copies wriggled out of its body. White, arachnean shapes erupted out of the live Acromantula, and skittered out of the classroom, blasting the wooden door open in their haste to get out.

"Blimey," said Ron, looking pale. "I'd forgotten that happens."

"Those are the defenses created by the second ritual, aren't they?" asked Hermione. Her hair was plastered across her sweat-soaked forehead, and she seemed ready to collapse out of exhaustion.

"Yes," answered Ron. "They're projections, a bit like a patronus. They work like golems, and protect what's inside the salt lines we made from outside attacks. They're what the defense ritual creates."

"What about the offense ritual? What does that one do?"

"Well, I can't quite remember everything, but you mix the potion of the second ritual," he said, pointing at the cauldron with its bone white contents, responsible for creating the ghostly copies of the Acromantula, "with this, here."

Ron held up a bottle shaped like a human skeleton.

"_Skele-gro_?" asked Harry, amused despite the gravity of the situation. The potion seemed a bit incongruous, considering what he'd expected.

"But Skele-gro is only used to regrow bones!" said Hermione, stepping closer to Ron and inspecting the bottle. She was clearly hoping it was another, more useful potion, but it wasn't.

After all, what did Ron hope to achieve with a potion used primarily for healing? Healing didn't have anything to do with offense, which was what the third ritual was all about.

"If we mix the two potions," continued Hermione, eyes expressing her worry, "then what will happen? Are you supposed to make a Death Eater drink it, or even Voldemort himself?"

Ron puffed up in pride. "It's even better than that. We mix the two potions together, and then we have to pour them on the ground, and it'll work everywhere inside the salt lines we made! Skele-Gro was first used as a torture method. They'd make people drink it, and bones would start growing and pushing out of the body like spears, killing the victim. So they made a weaker version of the potion, meant just to regrow bones that's perfectly safe. The stronger version was banned. If you brew it, you get sent straight to Azkaban."

He opened the bottle of Skele-Gro and poured its contents into the cauldron.

"Don't worry, this mix won't create the stronger version of Skele-Gro. Just pour it on the floor and it'll seep in and a forest of ghost bones will grow everywhere in the castle. It'll only stay there for a few hours. The bones cut through flesh, and they'll attack invaders, but students from the school will just pass through them like they're not there."

"And what about the Slytherins?" asked Harry. "Some of them are on Voldemort's side. We know that. Will the third ritual attack them too?"

Ron shook his head. "This is meant to attack invaders. The protectors created in the ceremony won't see anyone who's been into the castle regularly and recently as an invader, and will leave them alone."

"It's better than nothing," said Hermione. There was a frown on her face, which meant she was thinking of how to deal with those that would be able to bypass the protection afforded by the ceremony.

"It's ready!" said Ron, excited. "The potion's dark, and smells like rotten meat. Hermione?"

The young woman took a step back, and cast a levitation charm on the cauldron. Harry pushed it so it tipped to the side, and its contents splashed across several concentric circles that Ron had previously carved into the floor with a boline knife.

The circles began glowing, proof that the ceremony was working.

The trio smiled in unison, feeling fiercely happy.

They'd know this moment was coming. After many efforts, the ceremony was finally finished. It was time for them to have their revenge. Voldemort was going to pay for all the death and destruction he had caused. That was for certain.


	9. Puerile (Louis, Teddy, Viktor & Harry)

**Puerile**

1\. of or relating to a child or to childhood.

2\. childishly foolish; immature or trivial

.

**AN: **Prompts are:

4\. (restriction) no using the word 'Weasley'

5\. (word) stubborn

10\. (nursery rhyme) Frére Jaques

**Character chosen for this oneshot is Louis.**

.

x

.

"But I want to sleep with you!"

Edward shot Louis an annoyed look.

"Listen, Louis, it was cute when you were a kid, but you're too old for this now. Stop being so stubborn."

"But I can't sleep alone in a tent full of spiders! Please, Teddy!" he whined desperately.

"I'm twenty, Louis. It'll look strange for you to sleep in my tent. Can't you sleep with, I dunno, Hugo or someone?"

"Hugo?!" repeated Louis, incredulous. "Hugo's ten! He's a kid! What if he _snores?!"_

Rolling his eyes, Edward hunched forward and stared at Louis with a quirked brow.

"Would you rather be alone in your tent, then?"

"Please, Teddy!" cried Louis, clutching at Edward's clothes with claw-like fingers.

The blue-haired man pushed him back easily. "I want to spend some time with your sister, Louis. Please respect that."

Louis crossed his arms, glowering at Edward Lupin as if his stare could magically make him change his mind.

"You're _always_ with her!"

"Victoire's my girlfriend. Of course I'm always with her. Now, _please_ let me go, and stop acting so childish."

Louis huffed and released his grip, turning to leave with a mighty stomp. "Fine!"

-x-x-x-

The 2018 Quidditch World Cup was being held in France, and the next day would be the Finals, with France against Bulgaria. In the last Quidditch World Cup, Bulgaria had won, which was why Louis was supporting France for the Finals, hoping another team would win this time. And, of course, there was the fact that he was half-French. It made sense that he'd want France to win.

All of his extended family, himself included, had arrived the day before Finals so they'd be there early and have a good space for their tents. However, it seemed that others had had the same idea, which was why Louis's tent, which was originally supposed to be next to his parents and two sisters, had instead been placed between Edward 'Teddy' Lupin and Harry James Potter, which was quite far away from his immediate relatives. There hadn't been enough space for the whole family to be close together.

Harry had assured Louis' parents that he would take care of him, but Louis had still been bothered. For as long as he could remember, Louis had always slept with his parents or siblings. At first it had been because of night terrors, and then as those passed it had been because he had been so used to sleeping with family that he'd been unable to sleep alone.

At Hogwarts, he'd needed to take potions to knock himself out or ask to sleep with Teddy, which had been a much more favoured solution. Teddy had been understanding at first, but as Louis had grown, that had changed.

Louis knew that it was ridiculous for a teenager to be unable to sleep alone, and it was a painfully embarrassing secret that, at his age, he still could not sleep without someone close to him. While Teddy's rejection had hurt, Louis understood that he had been too clingy.

Louis had grown up as the youngest sibling, coddled by his parents to the point that the mere thought of being alone was unbearable. He had become so dependent on others for a sense of well-being that even sleeping without someone near him was distressing.

Nevertheless, he refused to sleep alone in his tent with only spiders and ants for company. So, he sat outside of it, illuminated by the floating lamps all around the gigantic camp full of wizards from all over the world.

He was fourteen — too old to be so needy and childish, but he couldn't help it. He knew that if he tried to sleep alone he'd spend the whole night awake, unnerved by the silence and certain that something would attack him as soon as he let his eyes close. He no longer had the horrible night terrors of his childhood, but he still had the paranoia and the foreboding certainty that things were moving in the darkness, waiting for him to be alone.

There were many wizards walking around, laughing and drinking. Someone had even set off fireworks, bright things that boldly advertised Bulgaria's colours. In response, someone else set off their own fireworks, and lights appeared in the sky with the face of Bastien Janvier, the French team's star Keeper.

It was past midnight, and Louis couldn't bring himself to go in his tent and use one of the numerous Dreamless Sleep potions he owned.

Merlin's beard, what was wrong with him? He'd never had anything traumatizing happen to him, nor had he suffered a life-threatening injury. There was nothing to explain his clinginess and obsessive desire for companionship, apart from the fact that he'd grown up with parents that had indulged him too much.

He'd been so stubborn and had always convinced his parents to allow him to sleep nestled between them. He'd often crawled into his sister Dominique's bed, ignoring her protests and hugging her until she'd relented and embraced him back.

A wizard passed near Louis, clearly knackered, judging by the empty bottle he held and his lack of proper equilibrium. He nearly stumbled into Louis, but Louis rose at last minute and skittered to the side. Unfortunately, it made him bump into someone else.

"I'm sorry!" he said, turning around.

He was faced with the surprised expression of Harry Potter, accompanied by a man Louis vaguely recognized from somewhere.

"Louis!" Harry exclaimed. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

Louis grimaced. There was no way to tell the truth without embarrassing himself. After all, who'd ever heard of a teenager who couldn't sleep alone? It was ridiculous.

"I can't sleep alone. I get nightmares." It was a bit of an exaggeration, but it would do.

Harry's confusion softened into understanding..

"I see. Were you planning on staying awake all night, then?"

Louis shrugged, feeling incredibly foolish and young.

"Louis, you do realize that if you do that, you'll fall asleep during the Finals, tomorrow evening." Harry frowned thoughtfully. "Well, technically the Finals are today, since I think it's nearly one o'clock. Anyway, how about you come and sleep in my tent? Viktor and I were heading there to catch up and chat a bit. If you don't mind the noise, you're welcome to stay."

_Mind the noise?_ That was the thing that bothered Louis the least. He'd gotten used to sleeping with people who talked in their sleep and breathed deeply. Louis only had one Achille's heel: snoring. As long as Harry didn't snore, it would be fine, though if it came down to it Louis could always use a Silencing spell on the man.

"Brill! I'd love to!" he exclaimed.

Harry smiled and ruffled Louis' hair. It didn't feel as condescending like it usually did whenever _other_ people did that to him.

The two adults headed towards Harry's tent, Louis following them, when Harry's earlier words finally caught up with the boy.

"Wait," he said. "Viktor? Viktor _Krum_?" He looked at the man next to Harry, and it suddenly clicked into place.

"Yeah," said Harry, turning his head to look at Louis out of the corner of his eye.

"I didn't know you knew Viktor Krum," said Louis, somewhat surprised.

"I vos a Champion in the Trivizard Tournament, like Harry. Ve competed together," said Viktor Krum, just as they entered the tent.

"Really? How was it? Was it dangerous?"

"Louis," said Harry, his tone making his amusement clear, "weren't you intending to go to bed?"

Louis nodded, looking around the inside of the tent. It had two beds, one being a double and the other being a single, smaller one. Ginny, Harry's wife, had gone to sleep with Lily because the girl had been having nightmares. Louis was somewhat jealous, however childish that was. Because of Ginny's absence, Harry should have slept alone in his tent that evening, though that had changed with Louis' arrival.

The two men were chatting pleasantly about Quidditch, placing bets about how the game would end and who would win. Krum had voted for his own team, while Harry was deliberating between France and Bulgaria, making comments about the talent of each player and how that would affect the odds.

Louis went over to the single bed and burrowed under the covers. He was already in his pyjamas and had taken care of his hygiene a few hours earlier, so all he needed to do was sleep.

As usual, he sang himself to sleep.

_"Frère Jaques? Frère Jaques? Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?"_ he sang quietly, his voice slipping into a nice glissando as he grew sleepier.

The song was about a monk who had to wake up and ring the morning bells. Louis found it funny that he used it to go to sleep, instead.

He knew he'd need to grow up and learn to sleep by himself at some point, but for now, he was just happy Harry had understood his need and hadn't judged him.

The understanding covered him like a second warm blanket, and Louis was filled with a comforting sense of peace as the two adults chatted away into the night.

-x-x-x-

**A/N: **Bastien Xavier is not an OC, but a real Keeper for the French team. He can be found on the Harry Potter wikia.

This story happens in 2018, when Louis is 14 years old. His childish need to sleep with others is inspired by a real person I know who has the same problem.


	10. Deception (Marietta, Pansy & Cho)

**Prompts****:**

(word count) 2618

(word) supermassive

(word) burning

This oneshot had to be written with the theme of _Othello_, Shakespeare's play.

My story covers this part of the play (the following bit of summary is taken from Wikipedia):

"_The play opens with Roderigo, a rich and dissolute gentleman, complaining to Iago, an ensign, that Iago has not told him about the secret marriage between Desdemona, the daughter of a Senator named Brabantio, and Othello, a Moorish general in the Venetian army. He is upset by this development because he loves Desdemona and had asked her father for her hand in marriage. Iago hates Othello for promoting a younger man named Michael Cassio above him, and tells Roderigo that he plans to use Othello for his own advantage. (...) By emphasising Roderigo's failed bid for Desdemona, (...) Iago convinces Roderigo to wake Brabantio, Desdemona's father, and tell him about his daughter's elopement. Iago sneaks away to find Othello and warns him that Brabantio is coming for him."_

**The cast** (genderbent, so all males from the play are females in this, and vice-versa):

**Roderigo **\- Pansy

**Iago **\- Marietta

**Desdemona **\- Cedric

**Brabantio **(Desdemona's father) - Amos Diggory

**Othello **\- Cho Chang

**Michael Cassio** \- Katie Bell

**Note**: Othello is a racial minority, which is why I decided Cho would have his role, as she is also a racial minority, at least in Hogwarts.

**Warning**: There is a little bit of racism in this story, be it because Cho is Asian or because of wizarding beliefs of blood purity.

-x-

"I can't believe it," declared Pansy, adjusting her dress. "You're an expert at knowing every single thing that happens around here. You knew about the fire in the Spinnet home before Alicia received a letter from her parents about it, for Morgana's sake!"

Marietta shrugged.

"Well, I'm telling you now."

Pansy narrowed her eyes. "You've known for weeks that I want to replace Draco, and have been trying to get Cedric's attention. You're telling me that his date for the Yule Ball is not just a one-time thing, but that they're officially dating?! Do you have any idea how much of a fool I must've looked like, trying to get his attention, when all along that Asian half-breed already had her claws into him?! You're her best friend. How can you only know this now?"

"Last year, Cho left me because a more popular friend came about - Katie Bell. But then Katie forgot about Cho in order to spend all her time with Angelina, and it's only then that Cho came back to me," said Marietta between grit teeth. "I'm friends with her because it's convenient, and had I known this earlier, I would've told you."

It wasn't quite true. Marietta had known for a while that Cho and Cedric were dating, but she'd found it more useful to keep the information to herself and use it when the time was right.

Marietta had used to care deeply about Cho, but when the Chinese girl had been given the opportunity to make friends with more popular girls, she'd left Marietta behind without hesitation.

When Cho had finally returned to Marietta, saying she was sorry, Marietta had accepted her friend back but had never forgotten what had happened, nor had she forgiven Cho. She'd simply bided her time until an opportunity for revenge appeared. Her hatred and hurt after that betrayal had never left. As time had passed, they'd been burning stronger and stronger, waiting, ready to pounce and make someone pay.

And the opportunity was now, mere hours away from the Yule Ball.

The two girls were in an empty classroom, where they'd set up a mirror, and brought along makeup and hairstyling tools. Marietta supplied Pansy with gossip in exchange for favours. The latest favour Marietta had asked was help to prepare for the Ball, as she wasn't very good with makeup, and knew only the basics of hairstyling.

Pansy huffed. "Well, at least I know now. Sit down, if you please. I need to do your hair."

There was a wooden chair placed right in front of the mirror. Marietta sat down on it, being careful not to wrinkle her dress by sitting on it wrong. She wanted to look perfect this evening, and upstage all the others.

It was surely quite childish, but she couldn't help it. She'd been wronged so many times in her life that she'd grown up with a vicious desire for vengeance, hidden between smiles and friendship. Cho might believe they were still best friends, but truthfully, Marietta had never had the slightest intention of forgiving her. Staying friends with Cho had just been a ruse to gather blackmail and any other useful things.

The Yule Ball brought out all of Marietta's feelings of inadequacy, and her deep desire to upstage the others. She wanted to be the most well-dressed girl there, the most pretty, and the one everyone would look at in adoration and envy. She wanted the world to know what it was missing out on, and she wanted those who wronged her to feel her might.

She might be a pureblood, but her family was not the most powerful, nor was it particularly rich. That was why she depended on her own power to make up for it. She studied hard at school, spied on people to know their secrets and use them against them, learned useful spells and jinxes to protect herself, and despite all she did to gain a foothold in the social ruling class of Hogwarts students, everyone believed her to be a sweet and polite girl.

No one suspected her of anything, and that was exactly how she liked it.

"So," said Pansy, picking up a fancy Fekkai hairbrush, "do you have any idea about what you want? Maybe some sort of braid? I can do a bun and I have these small crystal combs that I can set around it for decoration."

While Marietta had spent days on her dress, shoes and jewelry, she still had no idea what to do when it came to hair. She'd believed Pansy would know what to do and Marietta wouldn't have to think about it.

She needed some time to think about it, so she decided to stall. "What hair accessories did you bring along?"

Pansy was one of those girls who loved showing off her wealth, so she immediately brought out a small woven basket and took off the lid. Inside was a tangle of all kinds of hair accessories: flower crowns with enchantments to keep them from wilting, decorative hair combs meant to be on top of someone's hair-do, small hair clips with fresh flower buds or precious stones set on them, gold and silver clips, pearl head chains, and hair pins and bun holders. It was all incredibly beautiful.

"That is quite the collection," said Marietta softly.

She couldn't help but gaze at it admiringly. Pansy noticed, and preened.

"Why of course! I don't settle for anything but the best, you know. My parents know how important appearances are, and so my father will buy anything I want as long as it makes my family look good."

"You know…" said Marietta, as Pansy began brushing her long hair. "You really are quite the catch, Pansy. You're talented, rich, beautiful and you know how to entertain. You are everything a pureblood witch could aspire to be. It's such a shame that Cedric is dating Cho. After all, Cho isn't very rich, is she? And she's a half-blood, at that."

Marietta didn't much care for blood purity, but she knew that Pansy did, and the best way to get Pansy to listen was to play with the girl's interests.

"I know!" said Pansy, her tone exasperated. Not towards Marietta, but towards the situation at large, and Cho in particular. "The Diggory family is quite important, even though rumour has it they've been lacking in the money department during the last few decades. If a Diggory dates a halfblood, and a poor one at that, their reputation might not survive. They'd end up looking like blood traitors, or worse, like beggars who can't even find a good match for their son!"

Marietta raised an eyebrow. True, the Diggory family had less money than it used to, but the amount wasn't low enough to call them beggars. They were still rich, but just not rich by pureblood standards anymore. They'd also never beg for money.

"Why did you set your eyes on Cedric if his family is that 'poor'? Wouldn't you want someone with more money?"

Scoffing, Pansy tugged harshly at a knot in Marietta's hair. Marietta didn't wince, knowing better than to show such weakness in front of a Slytherin. Pansy and her were friends, but that didn't mean Pansy's loyalty was strong.

"I'm rich enough for my father to allow me to marry any man I want." Pansy used her wand to burn a few fallen hairs that were irritating her, and then continued brushing Marietta's hair. "As long as the boy is pureblood and from a respected family, it will be fine. Cedric is perfect - he's a wizard strong enough to be chosen by the TriWizard cup, he's popular and has good grades. He's nice, too, so at least I wouldn't have to be afraid of a husband who mistreats me."

Marietta looked at Pansy, the corner of her lips rising up in a faint and unnoticeable smirk.

"You know, Pansy, I don't believe Cedric's father, Amos, is aware of this. I don't think he knows Cedric is dating Cho. Cedric must've kept it a secret because he knew Amos wouldn't approve of his son dating a half-blood without asking for permission first."

That was a bit of a lie. Amos, while slightly prejudices against muggles, had no dislike for muggleborns and half-bloods. However, he would realize that Cedric dating Cho would impact his family negatively, and if he was made aware of his son's relation with a half-blood, he would surely try and do something about it to do some damage control.

So Marietta made it seem like Amos was a bit more interested in blood purity than he truly was, in order to get the point across properly.

"Do you really think so?" asked Pansy, looking pensive. She'd finished brushing Marietta's hair, spraying some product on the hair to make it wet and shiny and easier to work with.

"I know it is true." Marietta turned her head to the side to observe her hair, and caught sight of the basket full of hair accessories. Her eyes lingered on the basket, and suddenly she knew what she wanted. "Hey, can you do a basket weave braid, and have the hair come down loose after the nape of my neck?"

Startled out of the discussion about Cedric, it took Pansy a moment to answer.

"Oh, yes I can. Wouldn't you rather I do an elegant butterfly braid? Those are much harder to do and look more impressive."

Marietta shook her head, smiling faintly. She knew she only supplied information to Pansy. As soon as Marietta was no longer useful, she'd be discarded like she'd been so many other times in the past. Even so, she couldn't help but like Pansy, who was helpful, nice, and a good person to talk with. It went against the Slytherin image many people had in their heads, but it was the truth. Pansy was what Marietta had hoped Cho would be, before Cho had betrayed her.

Before the betrayal, Marietta's love for Cho had been an enormous thing, the sort of love a girl who'd never had friends before would give out desperately, hoping someone would give some affection and friendship back. Her devotion to Cho had been the size of a star, a supermassive love for the first friend she'd ever had.

And then it had been crushed, and now the only friends Marietta had were people she was pretending to like or people she was using for her own gain. She had no real friends, not any more.

"No, but, thank you. I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard. It wouldn't look appropriate, and I'd seem too desperate for attention."

Pansy nodded, as though she understood. Well, maybe she did. Her hair was in a simple bun, with a small fascinator set on the side. It wasn't too ostentatious and eye-catching, yet it still made her look beautiful, like any pureblood should look.

"Quite right. Well, straighten your back a bit and I'll start."

Marietta did as ordered, and let Pansy take over. She closed her eyes while the Slytherin girl worked, making some comments here and there that were mostly attempts at small talk. If she wanted her plan to work, she couldn't talk about what really interested her all the time, or Pansy would get suspicious. So it was after a few minutes that Marietta went back to the important subject:

"I wonder what will happen if Amos finds out. Cedric probably wouldn't be allowed to date Cho anymore, and he'd have to find a proper, available pureblood girl."

Pansy snorted. It said a lot about her inner thoughts that she'd allow herself to do something as unlady-like as snorting.

"If he finds out? Marietta, dear, be realistic. The man will find out sooner or later about Cedric's burning desire for Cho." The way she spat those words out conveyed her intense dislike perfectly well. "And when he does, he'll ensure Cedric doesn't make the mistake of choosing anyone with less than completely pure wizarding blood."

Using her acting skills, Marietta managed to look worried, without making the emotion too obvious and over-the-top. This was her opportunity for revenge and the beginning of her plan. She couldn't afford to make Pansy see anything she wasn't meant to see. Pansy had to believe she was making this decision herself, and wasn't being made to do so.

"That man is a bit oblivious, Pansy. I don't think he'll notice anything, and as soon as Cedric graduates, he'll probably run away to elope with Cho! I don't think Amos will realize what's happening early enough to do something about it."

Pansy tied up the end of the braid and took a step back to admire her work.

"You're right," she said, still gazing at the back of Marietta's head, probably looking in case any hair was out of place. "Someone needs to tell him, or he'll never realize what's happening." Pansy's eyes widened. "What if I tell him? He'll go see his son, and it'll make me look good to report this, and it'll mean I'll have a better chance of pleasing Amos Diggory! He might even like me enough to think of me for his son!"

Marietta's expression showed awe. "Pansy, what a good idea! If you manage to send him the message now, then Cho won't even be able to go to the Yule Ball with Cedric! If you do this fast enough, Amos Diggory might act immediately and that would mean Cedric wouldn't have anyone to go the the Ball with, and you could leave Draco to go with him!"

Now she was close to outright lying. Amos wouldn't embarrass his son by forcing him to leave behind his date for the Ball, no matter the blood purity issues. He would not consider Pansy for marriage. Marietta knew he was a romantic man, and would allow Cedric to marry whoever he loved, not whoever was the best match.

Pansy had the habit of thinking everyone reasoned exactly like her. She was from a pureblood family that only allowed arranged marriages to families of identical blood purity and good lineage. For her, it made perfect sense that Amos would think the same, also being pureblood, and would break up Cedric's relation with Cho as soon as he heard of it, thus allowing Pansy to make a move.

Unfortunately for Pansy, Amos wasn't that kind of man. Of course, he wouldn't be entirely happy about who Cedric was dating, but he'd be more angry about the relation having been kept a secret from him than about the relation itself and the choice of girlfriend. He was a fair man, and would keep the small amount of prejudice he had at bay if it meant his son would be happy.

But, he'd still be very angry and would take it out on the happy couple.

"I'm finished with your hair," said Pansy, "but I haven't done your makeup yet. If I do it now, I might not have the time to warn Mister Diggory…"

Marietta smiled in a way that she hoped looked indulgent and supportive.

"It's fine. You can go, and I'll do my makeup myself. I'll just cash in on the favour you owe me later."

Pansy hesitated, looking like she wanted to point out that she'd already done half the favour by doing Marietta's hair, but in the end she left to write a letter to Amos.

Now, all Marietta had to do was to go and warn Cho that Cedric's father was coming and knew of her relationship with Cedric. Her revenge was starting to take form...


	11. Her Lovestruck Soldier (Ron x Fleur)

**Her Lovestruck Soldier**

**Prompts :**

**6 (word) reach**

**12 (word) anatomy**

**14 (word) euphoria**

**A relationship between two characters of rival schools**

-x-x-x-

Ron knew it was hopeless, but he couldn't help it. He was in love. Every part of his anatomy felt swollen with devotion and awe. He spent all of his waking moments thinking of her, and he couldn't help staring at her hopefully, like a puppy devoted to its mistress. She was beauty, she was perfection and she was poise. She was everything men reached out for, and everything Ron could not have.

He needed to be near her like he'd never needed anything else. Only being in her proximity would make the ache in his heart subside. Vaguely, a part of him was telling him that what he was feeling was wrong, that something wasn't right, that he didn't even know her, but then he took another look at her and forgot all about his reservations, only preoccupied with her beauty.

He was sitting near Harry, thinking of the TriWizard Tournament and entertaining dreams of victory and the adulation of a certain girl. Brown, frizzy hair? _No_, his heart said, _no longer_. Instead each image was replaced with silver and blue. Every hint of brown, books and buckteeth was replaced with visions of her. It was like he was possessed, unable to control his base feelings, a victim of an _imperio_ to his heart.

This infectious love was slowly growing, and soon it would reach his head, turning him into a slave to his desires, wholly focused on _her_.

And then, a miracle happened.

"Excuse me, as you wanting ze bouillabaisse?"

It was like Merlin himself had deigned to offer Ron a bit of recognition and happiness.

He stared, entranced, at the beauty in front of him, ignoring all else.

"Yeah," Harry was saying, "have it."

And the girl spoke again, and her beautiful lips moved, revealing perfectly white teeth. Ron's mind blanked, and in that moment, had the girl asked, he would've done anything for her, just to get her to look at him.

"You 'ave finished wiz it?" was what the ethereal beauty said. Her hair was swaying gently with the movement of her head, reminding Ron of thin, sinuous white snakes.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was excellent." Ron had completely forgotten that seconds ago, he'd thought the bouillabaisse looked like the most disgusting cuisine he'd ever seen. Right now, he would eat the whole thing if it would please that divine girl.

A powerful sensation of euphoria had taken over his thoughts, and he couldn't think anymore. It felt like acceptance of someone better than himself. It felt like absolute submission. She was everything, and he would obey. It didn't matter that she belonged to another school, that it felt like he was betraying his school and Hogwart's future Champion. All of his loyalty to his House and to his school had been diverted. He would gladly set down his own pride for that woman, because in that moment, she was _everything_.

Whenever he'd thought of family in the past, he'd hoped for an intelligent, brown-haired wife, the one who always knew how to cheer him up. Despite her bossiness, he'd felt secure with her. He'd always imagined his children as brilliant like their mother and good strategists like himself. He'd play Quidditch with them, and be the ideal father.

But right now, faced with a silver-haired goddess, all of his hopes and dreams were pushed away in favour of the appearance of an all-consuming devotion. It was an obsession, and he was helpless to resist, like so many other males.

Ron watched her walk away, and his love grew. He would do anything for her.

-x-x-x-

Later, after the Champions had been chosen, Ron found himself wandering in the halls of Hogwarts.

Harry was going to compete! Of course, Ron felt a bit jealous, as his fragile ego tended to resent that fact that he was never first, be it in the family or amongst his friends. He was always second, or third, or even last. However, it was obvious Harry hadn't done it on purpose, and Ron trusted his friend implicitly. He knew that if Harry had sneaked around at night to put a slip of paper in the Goblet of Fire, he wouldn't have been able to resist telling Ron all about it.

Ron felt secure in the knowledge that this changed nothing of their friendship, and—

His brain stuttered to a halt as his heart registered a presence he knew well. He hadn't even seen or heard her yet, but he knew she was there, and she was coming.

He turned around, and his lips formed a smile despite his best intentions.

She was _there_.

_(But what about Hermione?! Something was wro_—_)_

His brain had turned to mush, and the euphoria was back, making him stand at attention. He couldn't think, only feel.

"Oh," she said when she turned a corner and caught sight of him. "You are 'Arry's friend, _non_?"

"Y-y-yes," said Ron, his pupils opening wide with desire. His tongue was too wide for his mouth, and too heavy for him to control right.

She leaned against a wall, and canted her hips up ever so slowly. Ron's eye unconsciously followed the motion.

_(She's from another school! Where's your loyalty to Hogwarts_! cried his brain. _You should be off congratulating Harry and joking about him easily beating the competition!)_

"You must…" she said slowly, her head moving to the side, revealing a slender, white neck, "… feel so _betrayed_ zat he cheated his way in, without inviting you join too."

There was something wrong with that sentence, but Ron had trouble seeing past her utter beauty.

"Nah, Harry and I are best mates, and—"

"Really?" she asked. Her eyes were strangely hypnotizing, and in that moment, he knew he would forever love her, school loyalty be damned. "But you are jealous, are you not? And you do feel betrayed, _non_? 'Arry must not respect you, so why should you be nice to 'im?"

"Why should I be nice to him?" repeated Ron, his eyes focused on her alluring eyes. His legs felt like they'd give out any moment, and the thought of him on his knees in front of her felt _(strangely)_ completely right.

"_Oui,"_ said the girl. "He was unfair, and so you must be unfair too, no? And you will hav' revenge by making 'im lose the Tournament, _non_?"

"_Ngh_— yes! I will be unfair to him, and make him lose," agreed Ron. "Anything for you."

_(But why did it feel so wrong?)_

The girl smirked, thrusting her chest out. Ron following the line of her body, each part of him, all of his anatomy longing to touch her.

"Yes," she said victoriously. "Anything for me."

And Ron was too far gone to understand what had happened.

-x-x-x-

**A/N:** _It never made sense to me that Ron would be jealous of Harry so fast. Yes, Ron has grown up in a large family where he is always last, and whatever accomplishment he does is always overshadowed by his siblings. Yes, he would feel jealous that the same thing happens at school with Harry always coming first. But he's still a sensible young man, and his friendship with Harry is strong. So what if the reasons for that betrayal had been something… more? That's how I got the idea for this one-shot._


	12. Aeipathyn (Harry x Ginny)

**Aeipathyn**

continued, unyielding passion

**Lyric:**

I will stand by you forever.

_Hero_  
_by Enrique Iglesias_

**Prompts:**

9\. (word) announcement

13\. (opening sentence) Everything was going wrong.

15\. (word) necklace

-x-x-x-

Everything was going wrong. First, they'd been late to the restaurant because Ginny had been convinced she'd lost her necklace. Then, when she'd finally found it, they'd Apparated to the restaurant and had nearly splinched themselves because they'd forgotten about the anti-apparition jinx placed on the establishment. They'd ended up in Muggle London instead and had been forced to Obliviate the witnesses and spell the electronics into having filmed something else. Then, they'd walked over to the restaurant, only to discover that their lateness had annulled their reservation, forcing them to wait for an empty table to present itself.

"Harry," said Ginny, "why can't we just go somewhere else? Better to go eat at another restaurant than wait half an hour for a table here."

Harry had been looking at the staff members, his gaze searching, when she'd spoken.

"I'd rather wait, Ginny," he said. "We can't be sure we'll find a table faster at another restaurant, so I'd rather stay here."

At that moment his eyes met those of the cook, who gave a discreet nod towards the kitchens. Harry nodded back.

The restaurant they were at was called The Amapola, a place that had been recommended to them by a friend. With some of the most spectacular views in Europe, the establishment had not neglected interior design. It had dark green and brown leather seats, a black marble herringbone floor and a cosy, barely lit atmosphere with large windows instead of walls that allowed people to view the beautiful lights of the city, several levels down.

Finally, after an overly long wait, a table was made available and they were able to sit down. Ginny took off her thick, fur-trimmed coat and placed it around the back of her seat. Underneath, she was wearing a simple dark dress. Despite the fact that there were women with much better clothing or appearance in the restaurant, Harry only had eyes for Ginny.

They both sat down and ordered some drinks. Harry was looking nervous, and though he tried his best to hide it, Ginny noticed. As soon as the waiter was gone, she asked:

"Is there something wrong? I thought you wanted to eat here, but you don't look very happy…"

Harry shook his head. "No, it's nothing like that." He struggled to come up with a good lie. "It's just, my most recent case has a French criminal, Nicolas Du Maurier, murdering people in Wales and… Well. Camille Hübsch from the French Department of Foreign Affairs isn't being very cooperative. We haven't even caught the bloke and we already have trouble about—"

"Harry," said Ginny, "I know you well enough to know when you're lying. Please tell me the truth." Her face was blank, no emotion visible, but Harry knew his lie had hurt her. And yet, he couldn't tell her the truth.

"I am telling the truth," he insisted, stubborn to the end.

Ginny sighed, and the defeat was easy to hear.

"You've been acting off for weeks, and I haven't said anything because I trust you to tell me when something's wrong," Ginny said with a shake of her head, "but you never did. And now? Now, you're lying to me?" She didn't even sound angry, just sad.

"I haven't…" he said, but his excuse was barely worth being called one.

Ginny rolled her eyes, and stood up. This time, she _was_ beginning to look angry.

"Fine!" she said. "I really thought we had something, that our relationship was meaningful. We've been together for five years and you've never outright lied to me. Starting now is a bad sign, and I refuse to—"

He grabbed hold of her hand. "Please, Ginny? I'll tell you all later, but just not here. Please, can you trust me?"

She'd been in the middle of grabbing her coat, and her left hand had been gripping it with fierce strength. When she looked into Harry's eyes and saw his pleading expression, her eyes softened. Her hand let go of her coat, joining her left one in holding hands with Harry. She sat back down, all traces of that simmering fury gone. He'd convinced her to stay.

"I trust you, but if I find out this was some sort of trick to make me lay off your lying to me, Harry Potter, Godric Gryffindor himself won't be able to save you from me." She narrowed her eyes at him in a glare, but the corner of her lips twitched upward ever so slightly.

Harry grinned, his good humour back. "Why, Miss Weasley, one would almost think that was a threat."

"It _is_ a threat, Harry," grumbled Ginny. Still, the start of a smile was shining through.

At that moment, a waiter appeared. It was not the same waiter that had taken their drink orders earlier in the evening. This waiter was taller, broader and older, and he gave a barely perceptible wink to Harry as he arrived with two plates, on which were slices of cake. Harry had a dark chocolate one, and Ginny had a millefeuilles, her favourite type.

"But," said Ginny, surprised, "we didn't order any cake. We didn't even order our starter, or our main course yet!"

The waiter just smiled and walked away, ignoring her protests.

"I ordered the cake," said Harry, "because I have an important announcement to make this evening and I thought you might want some cake, as a surprise."

"An announcement?" asked Ginny. "Is this about us moving in together? Because I think that after five years, we should be able to live in the same flat."

Harry shook his head. "No, it's not that. Just eat your cake first, and I'll tell you afterwards."

Ginny frowned. "You're not trying to be nice in preparation for a breakup, are you?"

"_No_, Gin. Just eat your cake."

She picked up her fork and knife, and began cutting into the millefeuilles. But, because that cake had several layers with cream between them, and the layers were very hard and difficult to cut, instead of cutting off a morsel, the upper layers of the cake slid to the side, revealing something metallic hidden in the cream. Ginny didn't notice, and brought some cake to her lips.

Harry opened his mouth, looking panicked, as Ginny eyebrows furrowed and her hand came up to her mouth. A shining ring came out, deposited on her palm.

"Is that…?"

Harry smiled, still appearing nervous, and moved away from his chair, placing himself on one knee on the floor.

"My announcement? Well, it's pretty simple. Ginny, I want you to marry me. Will you stand by me forever?"

Hopefully, the fact that she'd nearly choked on the ring because he'd wanted it hidden in the cake would be forgiven.

Thankfully, she said yes.

In the future and much to Harry's chagrin, their children would always ask for "ring cakes" for their birthdays, saying it was a "Potter family tradition." Ginny had forgiven him, but she never let him forget.


	13. Secret Weapon (Harry x Voldemort)

Short crack fic

-x-x-x-

It was finally time. Harry Potter stood face to face with his greatest enemy, ready for battle.

Lord Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the confident grin on Harry's face. "You think you can beat me, Potter? I have decades of experience over you. Tonight is the night you shall _die_."

Harry's grin widened. "That's where you're wrong. I have a secret weapon," he boasted, "one that will stop you as easily as it stopped you the first time."

"What?" Voldemort couldn't help but ask. His wand was at the ready, and he was prepared for any attack Harry might send his way. Harry wasn't the best with diversity when it came to spells, so Voldemort felt quite confident in his victory.

"Love."

And then the cauldron of Amortentia that had been suspended several feet over Voldemort turned, pouring all of its contents on the Dark Lord.

Harry crossed his arms in triumph as all the Death Eaters, students and Hogwarts staff stopped fighting to watch.

"Ready to love me, Voldemort?"

And that was how Harry Potter won the war.


	14. Allegretto (Ron & Harry)

**Allegretto**

prompts:

Words _'rush'_ and _'honest'_

dialogue _'Who the bloody hell is that?'_

Crossover with Greek Mythology, from the Misc category.

-x-x-x-

"Who the bloody hell is that?" asked Ron, eyes wide in admiration.

Harry turned his head to look at the other side of the street, where a young man was singing in a lively manner while playing a stringed instrument. A crowd had amassed around him to listen to the fine tune.

"He's really good," said Harry.

A gust of wind blew past, bringing with it the smell of freshly baked bread and roast chicken. Ron's stomach growled, but he was too enthralled by the music to pay his hunger any mind.

"D'you reckon he's really just a street performer? Maybe he's a musical genius of some sort who wanted to have some fun by playing outside?" The latter seemed more likely, as the music Ron was hearing seemed incredibly complex, to the point that it would come as a complete surprise if the musician was anything other than a master of his craft.

Harry let out a soft laugh. "I haven't ever seen you so excited about music of all things. Since when do you care about that? I thought you hated that sort of thing."

"Blimey, mate," Ron grumbled, a bit hurt. "People's interests can change, can't they? And listening to music helped me a lot after -" He stopped talking abruptly, not wanting to head into uncomfortable territory. "Nevermind."

Harry's gaze softened with pity and a certain amount of empathy for their shared pain. "I'm sorry. I know you don't like talking about it." He looked over at the musician again. "Well, how about we go see what this bloke can do? That'll cheer you up."

Ron felt a rush of affection for his friend. Harry usually didn't pry, and didn't try to make Ron talk about what had happened. Ron knew it was healthy to talk about painful things that continued to bother him, but he really didn't want to. Harry respected that, proof he understood how Ron worked better than Ron's own mother did these days.

The moment was fast becoming too sentimental for Ron's masculine pride to handle, so he cleared his throat and said: "Be honest, Harry. You're using me as an excuse because secretly you fancy the bloke."

Harry grinned, accepting the diversion from the original subject with easy grace. "Yeah, Ron. That's it. I'm secretly a sappy music fanatic and I'm looking for an excuse to get closer to the street performer." He rolled his eyes but his cheeks did look a pretty pink. He didn't mind taking a hit of embarrassment to save his friend from the momentary depression.

Ron snorted, amused at his friend's humour and relieved at the shift in mood.

They crossed the street and approached the musician. There were between ten and twenty people standing close to the young man, listening to the music with appreciative gazes. Ron was finally close enough to concentrate on the lyrics instead of the instrumental, and realized the song was some sort of fable.

"_A flourishing island,_

_Its earth very fertile._

_Glittering golden sand,_

_All ready to beguile."_

Ron listened intently to the words as the musician continued to sing. It was the story of a volcanic island where every year the inhabitants would use magic to stop the volcano from waking and burning everything. Then one day, a fire god was angered to the point of wanting to destroy the island, but a clever wizard managed to trick the god into leaving it alone.

When the song was over, everyone clapped, and the singer smiled, showing off very white teeth.

"Should I sing another?"

Most of the people agreed with vocal sounds of assent.

The musician pushed strands of blond hair out of his face, expression pensive.

"Well," he said, "how about you guys give me a theme, and I make up a song for you?" He looked around and spotted Harry, his eyes going wide. His smile faded for just a second in surprise before rebounding full force, a bright beam of a smile that made the surrounding girls flutter. "Mister Potter! Saviour of the British Wizarding World! How about you give us a theme? The song will be in your honour, as a thanks for services rendered."

Harry reddened, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of all nearby people. He had never been happy under the spotlight despite his status as 'famous'. For a second, Ron thought Harry wouldn't answer, but the wizard succumbed to peer pressure and said quietly, with a hint of remorse:

"Owls."

Ron grimaced, realizing the theme Harry had just proposed was directly linked to Hedwig, Harry's dead pet. She had been an important companion to the young man while she had been alive.

The musician didn't seem to realize anything was wrong, his smile growing. Ron couldn't help but think the man seemed to shine brightly, a bit like the sun.

"Oh, owls! Reminds me of Athena, the goddess of war, wisdom, and favorite daughter of the god Zeus!"

"Er… right."

The young man held up his instrument, and began playing a few notes, testing some tunes with a furrowed brow until he found what he wanted. He began to sing, his voice happy and full of light:

"_Gentle flutter of wings,_

_Silent beauty now sings._

_While in darkness that clings,_

_Comes majesty of kings."_

The song was beautiful. It was simple, but managed to carry a certain solemnity while staying upbeat, something which Ron wouldn't have thought possible until now. Harry certainly seemed to like it, as there was a small, barely-there smile on his face.

Everything had felt so bleak after the war. Ron and Harry had started training to become Aurors together, unwilling to be separated after years of shared hardships, and despite their proximity and usual camaraderie the gruesome events of the past had continued to haunt them, robbing them of the easy smiles they used to have. And yet... this street musician had managed to lift both their spirits. He wasn't... making them happy. It wasn't exactly that. It felt more like the pain of the past was healing, the hurt lessening and making the air a bit easier to breathe. It felt… like living again.

"_You see a likeness,_

_To a common barn owl,_

_While I see a goddess,_

_Not simply something fowl."_

And then, with that last stanza, the song ended. This time, Harry and Ron were amongst the loudest in their clapping.

Before the man could start another song, Ron stepped forward and asked,"Who are you?"

He had to know. He had to know the name of the one who, with a single song, had somehow managed to lessen the depression that had plagued Ron for so long. And judging by Harry's flabbergasted yet peaceful expression, Ron hadn't been the only one to feel unusually relieved by hearing that song.

The musician smiled impishly, giving a low bow. "My name is Apollo, at your service!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Like the Greek god?"

It was a wizarding tradition to name their children after stars, latin words, or Roman emperors, especially amongst the purebloods, but this was the first time Ron had heard of a wizard named after a god. It felt a bit presumptuous, like a parent naming their child 'Merlin'. But, who was he to judge?

The man nodded, blond hair shining like gold in the light of day. "Exactly."

-x-x-x-

**AN**: Song stanzas written by me, and are not quoted from anywhere. They belong to me only.


	15. Palindrome (Harry, Remus, James & Lily)

**7 **(setting) dystopian!AU

**12 **(word) echo

**14 **(quote) 'I drink to make other people more interesting' - Ernest Hemingway

I got inspired by how much Harry wished he had a family, and wondering how the Magical World would've evolved if Voldemort had died before attacking the Potter family.

-x-x-x-

Harry paused in the midst of eating when he heard the angry rustle of paper. He raised his eyes to see his father, face furious, reading yet another article in the paper. Harry looked at the part of the newspaper that was facing him, and along mundane headlines such as 'Nundu smuggling ring found in London!' and 'Centaurs kill six Aurors!', there was one that stood out:

'Searches for lycanthropes intensify!'

Breakfast forgotten, Harry leaned in to get a better look, but the newspaper was being pushed flat on the table, revealing his father's face.

"What are you looking at?" While the tone wasn't aggressive, it was rather snippy.

The corner of Harry's lips raised in a tentative smile. "I was looking at the article on werewolves, because… well, you know…"

James' self-control was impeccable. He didn't even glance in the corner of the dining room, where a door was hidden within a painting, giving access to a secret room. Instead, he lowered his eyes to the newspaper. Harry saw a picture of a subdued man wearing rags and restrained by ropes. The words 'execution scheduled for the 10th of August, 8 AM' were glaringly obvious.

"They centaur raids worked like the Ministry wanted," James growled. "They got the centaurs riled up to the point of attacking back, and now it justifies every action the Ministry took against them. Now they're doing the same with werewolves, acting like they're a disease and not human beings." James snorted and started laughing, but it was not a happy kind of laugh. His shoulders were spasming and tears were sliding down his cheeks. He sounded hysterical, as if he were about to break, his body tearing itself apart. "They're calling for the _death _of all werewolves and saying it's justified because it'll eliminate the lycanthrope curse and stop if from spreading if all werewolves are dead. I just…"

Harry looked over at the painting on the side of the room. There were several portraits and pieces of art in Godric's Hollow, but this specific painting showed a grey-haired Dorea Potter sitting on a rocking chair outside a beautiful house with cream-coloured walls and vines crawling everywhere. There were a few flower pots here and there, but the painting felt strangely sparse. The vegetation was mostly green with a few rare splashes of vibrant colour scattered about here and there.

Dorea noticed him looking and waved. Harry smiled timidly at the woman who'd died before his birth and waved back.

"Hello, grandmother," he said politely.

Her painting wasn't one of the talking ones, so she simply gave another wave and went back to knitting a scarf without the use of magic.

Harry's gaze went back to his father, who had been unable to resist looking at Dorea's painting as well.

"It'll be alright, dad," said Harry. "Remus is a nice bloke, and he's been a friend of the family for such a long time! I'm sure the Ministry won't—"

"They will," answered James, his voice monotonous and dead. "They've announced they're starting raids this week. It's only a question of time. We're lucky our family is popular and well-liked because it means they should leave our home alone."

There wasn't the faintest _echo _of the joyful man he'd once been. For a few years now, things had been bleak. Harry knew that it had started with the defeat of a Dark Lord named Voldemort, well before he'd been born. With that man's defeat, the Ministry had basked in the glory of being responsible for keeping its citizens safe. But, as time passed and remnants of Voldemort's forces continued causing problems and only the Order of the Phoenix managed to capture several enemies, things had changed. Wishing to show they were keeping the people safe, the Ministry had found other, more vulnerable targets to prove their worth…

The front door opened with a bang, and Harry flinched. James stood, his expression nervous.

"Boys!" The voice was feminine and both of them relaxed instantly.

Harry rose, and ran to the front hall, where his mother was waiting. Instead of the normally radiant smile she would greet him with, her expression was worried. In fact, she looked about to cry.

"What is it, mum?" he asked. His heart was already sinking with the expectation of yet another person they knew having died, lost their home, or something equally terrible. It seemed to be happening everywhere nowadays, despite the officials saying things were 'better than ever'.

"Harry! You have to go warn Remus! The McKinnons just told me there's another raid, and it's coming here any minute!"

Harry's eyes grew wide. This was even worse than a death. This meant several properties being destroyed, and multiple deaths.

When he didn't move, paralyzed by the thought of what was to come, Lily snapped out an order to get him moving.

"GO!"

He went.

He pushed past James and returned to the dining room. Immediately, he headed towards the painting with Dorea Potter. She was already standing, having realized something was happening, and she was quite a bit closer than she'd been before. She stuck her canvas hand out, and it pushed past the painting, coming out to grab Harry's own outstretched hand. She pulled him in, and he sank into the image.

Once in, he found himself in a simple garden, with a house in front of him, a rocking chair placed near the entrance. Ignoring his grandmother, he ran for the house and opened the wooden door.

"Remus!" he shouted.

The inside of the house was rather bare, as the painting hadn't been that detailed. There was a rather empty room, with a few dirty dishes on the ground, a pot in a corner and a large pile of duvets in the middle, without any cushions.

The pile moved and the man in question appeared, his scarred face having the usual reassuring effect on Harry. Remus was there, and everything would be fine.

"Harry, what is it?"

Harry felt a twinge of remorse when he noticed how tired Remus seemed to be, but he pushed that feeling back in favour of doing what he'd come to do.

"There's a raid coming, Remus. You need to stay hidden!"

Remus didn't even look surprised. He nodded, looking for all the world as if he'd expected it. 'But, then again,' thought Harry, 'Remus probably went in hiding for dozens of raids while I was away in Hogwarts, so he'd be more used to it than me.'

Had Remus not moved, Harry wouldn't have noticed anything. But the man shifted his body the tiniest bit, and a bottle of Blishen's Firewhiskey rolled out.

Harry's eyes narrowed. The worry was there again, stronger than ever. "But… I thought you'd stopped! You promised!"

Remus shrugged, appearing unaffected. "It makes me happy. Do you really want to take away the only thing that makes me happy, Harry? And besides, I can stop whenever I feel like it. It's just that with things as they are in this country…"

"It doesn't matter!" snapped Harry. "You are happy! You have me, and dad, and mum! You're alive! What more could you want?! You can't kill yourself with alcohol while we're trying to save you from the Aurors!"

Frowning, Remus retrieved the errant bottle and hid it back under the covers. "What do you expect, Harry? The only time I see you or your parents are when you warn me about raids, or when you come in for a quick hello because you feel bad for me. I'm all alone, except for _that_." He nodded at something behind Harry's back.

Harry turned, and saw Dorea Potter through the window, her gaze as blank as ever, knitting a scarf that never seemed to approach completion. She was looking at her work, her face slack and unfocused, the movements of her hands repetitive and hypnotic.

"I refuse to be bloody Anne Frank!" shouted Remus, truly angry now. "So what if I need alcohol? I drink to make other people more interesting. When _**you **_are forced to live with a mute, unthinking _puppet_, you tell me how happy _you _feel!"

Harry winced. "Moony, I-"

"Leave me alone! I have no job, no life, and friends who barely speak to me because there can't be any suspicious absences on their part that would clue the Ministry in! And you want to take away the only thing I still have!?" Remus shouted. The bottle was in his hand, and he was waving it violently in Harry's face. "Out! _OUT_!"

Harry took a step back, but it wasn't enough. Moments later, Remus had thrown the bottle violently at him, and he turned and ran. He made it out of the house, past a blank-faced Dorea who was still knitting and out of the painting.

His mother was in the dining room, waiting for him. She looked utterly calm, her expression utterly blank. Harry wasn't surprised. She was a bad actress, so she usually took something to calm herself down just before a raid.

"Harry, get ready!" she said slowly, as though it was hard for her to form the words. "The Aurors are here to search our house. I think they received a tip-off from someone we know. James is distracting them by showing them the Quidditch trophy room first, but it won't keep them occupied for long. Did you talk to Remus?"

"I…" Harry wondered what to tell her. "Yes, I told him about the raid."

"Good, good," said Lily, nodding. "Let's join your father before they think something's wrong."

Together they went to join James and entertain their uninvited guests, serving them refreshments while they searched the house and lying when it was necessary to keep Remus from being found.

Sometimes, Harry wondered how things would've been if Voldemort hadn't died before he'd been born. With someone truly evil to focus on, would the Ministry have been any different? Would it have had a kinder hand? He would never know.


	16. Cajolery (Bellatrix x Grindelwald)

4.(word) curious

10.(word) embrace

13.(poem) '_The Night Is Darkening Around Me_' by Emily Bronte

My team's character: Bellatrix.

My second character: Gellert Grindelwald.

I write in British English, not American English. So it's normal for me to write 'colour' instead of 'color', 'tumour' instead of 'tumor' and so on.

-x-

The night was darkening around her as she approached the somber fortress. The light of the moon grew dimmer by the second. Wild winds sent her hair whipping out in a tangle of stringy black strands. Despite how cold it was, she continued to advance. His spell had bound her, and she found she would do anything to please him.

In this case, it meant finding something her Lord needed.

She walked past enormous trees bent under the weight of the snow, keeping a watchful eye on the sky. A storm was approaching, and yet she could not leave. She had to do this, for the sake of the man to whom she had devoted her life.

There were huge, menacing clouds above her, and she was surrounded by mostly empty lands, with only a few sinister trees that were ominously devoid of leaves. No matter how dreary the place was, she would not leave. She would not go. She had a mission to accomplish.

She left the cold embrace of darkness and approached Nurmengard. The entrance lacked any human presence; her fellow Death Eaters had already taken care of that for her.

She kicked the still-warm corpse of a guard out of the way as she advanced towards the cell housing one very important person. She knew that as soon as the other Death Eaters had finished storming the fortress, they'd left to form a perimeter in case any authorities came. Her wand was out, prepared to kill without hesitation at the slightest hint of movement. None of her comrades were supposed to linger. She wouldn't be asking questions before she cast, and she wouldn't be apologizing afterwards either. Not that there would be much left for her to apologize to.

When she finally arrived within sight of that famous jail cell, she hesitated. She was curious, in a way. She'd heard tales of this man and of the things he had accomplished. Meeting him would probably be quite interesting, a chance to compare an old Dark Lord with a new one. At the same time, she couldn't help but experience a small shudder of fear. He'd been strong, once. Would she be able to best him?

"_I know you're there…_"

If the voice surprised her, she didn't let anything show. Her fingers tightened on her wand, eyes narrowing in displeasure. She hadn't made any noise in her approach. Either she wasn't as quiet as she thought, which was unlikely, or he was simply… better.

She fought her customary desire to cackle and taunt him — such actions wouldn't win her any points in this sort of battle. Instead, she drew closer until she was in his line of sight. She got a glimpse of the figure in the cell, and it took every remaining shred of control not to recoil in disgust.

Ever since she'd heard of him as a child, she'd always thought of the man as a powerful figure, someone to be feared and respected. After she'd pledged herself to her Lord, she'd come to imagine the man in this jail cell as someone similar—cunning, charismatic, and handsome. Instead, she was faced with something entirely different.

Gellert Grindelwald was a wreck.

Age had shrivelled him down to the gnarled remains of what had once been the most powerful wizard of Europe. His time in prison had done him no favours. His figure was emaciated; it looked as though a stiff breeze could finish him off.

All the worry she'd harboured over this mission faded as she realized just how weak he was. This mission was going to be _easy_.

"I'm surprised," she purred, winding her finger around a lock of her hair. "Usually, they only notice me when it's too late."

He raised a thin eyebrow, forehead crinkling with loose skin. "That would imply it is not too late yet." His voice was a breathy rasp, barely noticeable despite the eerie silence of the fortress.

She stepped closer, pressing herself against the bars of his cell, canting her hips suggestively.

"You might have some time left," she admitted coyly, looking at him right in the eyes. "I heard you were the best. There are many tales of your cruelty, of what you _inflicted _on others."

He shifted, and his bones creaked audibly with the movement. "I have always had a propensity for sadism," he said. "It is in my nature. After I was defeated, the authorities sought to excise it from my body as one would a tumour, but it is as much a part of me as is my mind." There was something resembling a smile on his face, a smile she had seen twist the lips of her Lord. She thought, for just a second, maybe she could pretend the twisted remains before her were somebody else.

Her hand, which had been playing with the chain of her necklace, dragged downwards. One of her nails, long and sharp, drew a jagged line between her breasts. The line darkened as blood rushed to the surface.

"It must have been lonely," she crooned with a breathy giggle, bringing her hand up to her lips to lick off the smear of blood that had pooled on her index finger. "Perhaps, I could make it... _better_?"

His suspicion was palpable, permeating the air. It was nearly enough to make her back down, the weight of whatever magic he had left almost suffocating. She was strong, however, and he had no wand. She pressed on. He'd either give her what she'd come for, or she'd kill him. Well, she couldn't kill him, as she needed that information, but she'd still hurt him enough to make him wish he were dead.

_Though_, she pondered as she tightened her grip on her wand, _perhaps he already wishes he were_.

"What do you want?"

The way Grindelwald hissed his words in an authoritative tone that never once left him, no matter how dishevelled he looked, nearly made her shiver. Grindelwald was similar to her Lord—or should she say her Lord was similar to Grindelwald? The assertion of power, of dominance, made her feel warm, as though lying down at his feet and basking in his presence was all she needed to be happy. But she had her true Lord back in Britain, and this one was but a relic; he was nowhere nearly as appetizing as _her _Dark Lord.

"What does anyone want?" she retorted. The question was rhetorical, as she answered it immediately thereafter: "Power is what humanity _begs _for. Power is what I came for. They say you know where the wand of the legend is, the Deathstick. Tell me, where is it?"

A sound came, then. It took her a moment to realize it was _him -_ chuckling. The sound was horrible, and it was clear that his voice, abused from years of silence, had trouble coming out right. It made her skin crawl.

How could this man draw more of a reaction out of her than any other foe she'd faced? He was old, a being past his prime! Someone so weak was not a danger to her, yet she couldn't help feeling that knot of fear rising in her abdomen despite her attempts to banish it. Were remnants of his aura and might enough to make her, Bellatrix Lestrange, _cower_? She wanted to snarl viciously and deny it, but being so close to this jailed predator of humanity filled her head with shrill warning bells.

"You, a mere _girl_, think you can ask me that?" He laughed. "I cannot decide whether you are brave or have taken leave of your senses. Flee, child. I have no time to entertain the fantasies of an insect."

She bristled. Calling her, a fully grown woman, a child was an insult she refused to bear. Her Lord had said she was to seduce this pathetic excuse for a man for the information, but that route had failed. _Besides_, she thought with a wicked sense of satisfaction at the fact that the old man would get his comeuppance, _I know a much better way to get what I've come for_.

She pointed her wand at him. "_Cru—!_"

His hand came up, and with a flick of his fingers she was thrown to the other side of the hall, slamming painfully against the stone floor. She groaned as blood trickled down her face, and belatedly realized that her wand was no longer in her hand. The pain had been enough to overcome her tight grip.

"Leave," she heard the voice of Gellert Grindelwald command. "I laugh at the audacity of your master, thinking anyone other than he would be powerful enough to steal the Elder Wand's location from me. You are lucky I am feeling magnanimous, or I would have crushed your skull against the walls of this forsaken place."

She blindly felt the cold floor in search for her wand and managed to find it barely a foot away. She rose, feeling rather woozy from the hit she'd taken, and fled.

For, while Bellatrix Lestrange was a witch who enjoyed causing pain and wouldn't allow anyone to hurt her without her taking a pound of flesh, she knew when she was beaten. There was a reason he was such a notable figure, after all, and she knew better than to press her luck with the man known for killing millions.

When she left Nurmengard, it was with an angry boiling mass in her gut at being treated so disrespectfully and a sense of excitement for whatever punishment her Lord would deem fit to use for her failure.

"The giant trees are bending," she sang, her lips stretching into a crazed smile, "their bare boughs weighed with snow. The storm is fast descending and yet…" She looked back at the fortress, knowing she wasn't meant to leave, that she had to stay, and that she couldn't go. And, yet, she had no choice.

"… I must go," she finished, improvising a new end to the poem.

With a sharp _crack_, she Disapparated.


End file.
